


Reciprocity

by PeppyBismilk



Series: Method Skating [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Communication via Figure Skating, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Festivals, Friendship, Kobe Beef, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Off-Season, POV Lee Seung-gil, Post-Canon, Roommates, Slow Romance, Summer, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Seung-gil was just going to spend the off season alone, drilling new quads and meditating on failure. Phichit has a better idea.A story of give and take in a twenty-one square meter apartment.





	Reciprocity

“Congratulations, Seung-gil!”

He has to look twice because it's the first time Phichit Chulanont has ever spoken to him. They follow each other on social media, but they both follow everyone on every site (for different reasons). Maybe Phichit thinks this makes them friends, because he waves. 

The fact that that Phichit can say it with a smile even after falling from third to ninth place at the Four Continents Championships says a lot.

The fact that Seung-gil can’t think of a single reply—that he can only nod, despite having jumped from fifth to second with his best free skate of the season—says more. 

At least he doesn’t say what he thought while watching Phichit struggle through his program, mentally subtracting points from his TES: _I thought you’d put up more of a fight._

_ I expect more from you at Worlds  _ pops into his mind, but that isn’t right either. 

Phichit has a lot going for him. Seung-gil studies all of his competitors constantly, looking for any edge he can get, and Phichit’s advantages are all intangible and incomprehensible: exuberance, accessibility, and a near-permanent sunny disposition. Seung-gil has seen him determined, overwhelmed past his breaking point right there on the ice for everyone to see, but his smile is what sticks. Phichit smiles through his falls, and not just to get the crowd on his side (he does that without even trying). When he performs, his enthusiasm spreads through the entire audience. Like an infection. Everyone is Phichit’s friend. 

It’s a level of openness Seung-gil can’t even fathom. He does what he needs to do to increase his scores and his fans seem to like it, but when he fails, he cries alone. Like back in Moscow. 

Those tears set him on fire. Relying so heavily on his ability to distance himself from his emotions turned a strength into a weakness, but weaknesses are just walls to break down. Seung-gil channeled that sense of utter despair and failure every day until he could summon it at will. It took him to dark places, things he tried to forget, but it also got him here. 

Min-so still doesn’t understand.

It’s already inspiring him for next season, too. _Loss_ is a terrible theme—Seung-gil knows better than to ask for trouble—but he’s not afraid to tap into it to if it helps his skating.

By the time Seung-gil looks up again, Phichit’s already moved on to hugging Yuuri Katsuki (Seung-gil flinches, even though he’s not the one being hugged this time). Phichit pulls back to gleefully tap the gold medal hanging around Yuuri’s neck, looking almost as proud as Viktor Nikiforov. 

That’s where Seung-gil draws the line. No amount of emotional conditioning is ever going to make him bond with his teammates, other skaters, or even his coach. 

Being detached is the only way he can deal with Min-so.

“This had better not be the peak of your career,” she says. “I expect more from you at Worlds.”

_ Definitely doesn’t feel good to hear, _ he thinks. But now he knows where his own thought came from. 

“You’re running out of time to set yourself apart for Pyeongchang.” Seung-gil tunes her out completely as she lists again what he can do better—he can do the math himself and he was the one who skated the program. 

He gives one brief statement at the press conference: “I tripled my efforts after missing the Grand Prix Final, and I’m going to triple my efforts again for Worlds.” Glimpsing Phichit in the crowd, he adds, “I don’t want my career to be defined by any one moment.” 

But Phichit isn’t listening. He’s grinning at Yuuri with inexhaustible cheer and sneaking pictures like he has a press pass. 

Otabek has even less to say. Fans take to Twitter to highlight the almost comical contrast on the podium: staunch Otabek, blank Seung-gil, and one-man master class in conveying every possible human emotion at once, Katsuki Yuuri. There must be something to it, because Katsuki has a good 20 point lead whereas Seung-gil barely has a point on Otabek. 

They’re both relieved when the spotlight turns to Yuuri, but Seung-gil would be hard-pressed to think of a more press-averse podium. JJ finished fourth and his CBC interview lasts longer than the entire press conference. 

The crowd likes Seung-gil’s exhibition, but he just wants to get it over with. 

He networks at the banquet as much as he’s expected to. He eats, steers clear of the alcohol (he wants to ignore the other skaters, not make out with them), and goes to bed early so he can get right back to work. 

After all, he expects more from himself at Worlds. 

He gets more.

So does everyone else. It’s the kind of day an athlete dreams of—no one wants to win because someone else failed, but there’s a special kind of frustration that comes from skating clean and landing in eighth place. 

Phichit rallies from his Four Continents performance and winds up in seventh, and he's still smiling but there’s a drive in his eyes that Seung-gil doesn’t recognize. Maybe the cheer does have a limit.

Really, neither of them has any right to be disappointed. Top ten at Worlds is big. 

The brightest silver lining is that Seung-gil doesn’t have to skate the gala. He’ll have to come up with something fresher in the next year or two—even if he bombs at the Olympics, he’s going to have to skate an exhibition on home ice. 

Min-so loves to tell him things he already knows and it’s non-stop “constructive” criticism all the way to the banquet. “You don’t stand a chance in Pyeongchang unless you have at least three quads.”

He tunes her out to plan his escape, but the Crispinos have been eying him all night (Sara with interest and Michele with contempt) and they’re blocking the door. When Phichit launches a preemptive strike the moment Min-so gets up, it’s almost a relief. 

“Seung-gil!” he says, like he’s greeting an old friend. “I’ve been dying to talk to you all night.”

“Why?”

Phichit’s eyes are calculating. That’s new, too. Seung-gil should have paid more attention to him in their junior days. 

“What a time to be alive!” Phichit slides into Min-so’s vacant seat, ignoring his question. Seung-gil wonders if he’s drunk until his face goes solemn. “We’ve got our work cut out for us next season.”

He’s not wrong, but there is no _we_. Why is Phichit even talking to him? Thailand’s team is tiny, but he has an international clique full of names much bigger than Lee Seung-gil.

“I usually train with Guang Hong and Leo during the off season. Yuuri, too, but I’m pretty sure he’s got other plans this summer.”

None of this has anything to do with Seung-gil, but Phichit’s looking at him like he expects a reply. He settles on, “Why should I care?” 

“What do you usually do during the off season?” 

What else does anyone at their level do? “Train. Rest.” In that order. His physical therapist hates him. 

Specifically, he’s going to work on new quads on his own and meditate on failure until he breaks through or breaks down, but he’s not about to say all of that to Phichit. 

Phichit laughs (even though no one said anything funny), then he’s grinning like he wants to sell Seung-gil a car. “Wanna try something different?”

He can’t possibly mean _not_ train. Asking Phichit to elaborate could be a mistake—he talks way too much—but Seung-gil is curious. “Explain.” 

Phichit was going to, anyway. “It’s like this: I love training with those guys. We have a ton of fun, and yeah, we learn stuff, but honestly, we’re too similar. Plus, we goof around way too much.” Seung-gil knows. He’s seen the videos online. “I want to switch things up for next season and you were the first person who came to mind.”

“Why?” Because he wants to train and  _ not _ have fun? It checks out, but it still stings a little. 

“You don’t always get called on it because your edges are so good, but,” Phichit points at him, “you prerotate your quad toe.”

He knows. Min-so knows. It’s because he drilled the quad loop so hard that the toe loop got a little lost in the shuffle. 

“I’ve been there, so I can help you fix it,” Phichit says. “And if I’m being honest, your PCS could use some help, too.”

His critique is spot on and Seung-gil has definitely been ignoring him for too long. “What’s in it for you?”

Phichit smiles innocently. “I thought maybe you could teach me how to do a quad loop. I mean, you practically own it.”

JJ does it better and Emil’s gaining on him. Viktor and Yuri Plisetsky do it in practice and will definitely use it next season. Yuuri’s probably most of the way there. Still, it’s not awful to hear.

“It’s a place to start.” Phichit extends his hand. “What do you say?”

Seung-gil has no delusions about his own abilities, nor Phichit’s. They both had their ups and downs this season, and now that the dust has settled they’re pretty evenly matched—even though their approaches are completely at odds. 

Phichit skates from the heart and his scores are better for it, but he knows when to pull back, too. 

Seung-gil skates from the head. He has the technical edge on Phichit (for now) but he gets tied up in numbers and his emotional range is limited. Min-so scolds him for it but offers no solutions because she’s the same way. 

He has a bad track record with rinkmates, but this feels like a challenge and Seung-gil never backs down. 

“Okay.” 

Instead of shaking on it, Phichit whips out his phone and slings an arm over Seung-gil’s shoulder.

“Training buddies!” he says, taking a dozen pictures in a row. As he’s selecting the best one for his Instagram, their coaches approach. Phichit stands at attention and, for reasons he doesn’t understand, Seung-gil copies him.

Cialdini looks amused. “Making new friends?” he asks Phichit. Min-so cocks an eyebrow.

“We’re going to train together this summer!” Phichit announces. 

Min-so’s lips go thin. “Seung-gil?” 

“You heard him.”

Cialdini beams at them, spreading his arms to frame them. “I think it’s a great idea! You could learn a lot from each other, since you both have something the other lacks.”

“They both lack quads,” Min-so points out.  

Cialdini waves her off. “We focus too much on quads in this sport. Personality and presentation are far more important.” So that’s where Phichit gets it. 

“And in one season with Nikiforov, Katsuki gained two more quads and the best scores of his career. I’m sure that’s a coincidence.”

Privately, Seung-gil agrees with his coach, but Cialdini has a point, too. There’s no point in getting involved, though.

“What kind of phone do you have?” Phichit asks, just as eager to stay out of the increasingly passive-aggressive discussion between their coaches. 

Seung-gil pulls out his Galaxy, and Phichit pulls a face.

“I guess iMessage is out. Well, unlock it and I’ll give you my number anyway.” Seung-gil does because he has no reason not to, and Phichit puts his number in. “How about WhatsApp? We could just use DMs on Instagram or Twitter, but that’s so…you know.”

Seung-gil does not know. 

“LINE? Skype?” Seung-gil can’t believe there are this many options, but Phichit just keeps smiling. “I’m good with anything. Phichit+chu.” He says it like it’s a brand name. He talks so much.

“Just email me.”

Phichit bursts out laughing, then studies Seung-gil’s face. “Oh, you were serious?” 

By the end of the night, Phichit has installed a full complement of messaging apps on Seung-gil’s phone and provided lengthy lectures on all of them. 

Seung-gil’s brain is excellent at filtering information, and a good night’s sleep is all it takes to discard everything Phichit taught him. Avoiding the apps doesn’t stop Phichit from calling him. 

“So, where are we doing this? Do you want to come to Thailand?”

“No.” Summer in Seoul is hot enough, but summer in Bangkok sounds downright miserable. 

“But it’s really beautiful here!” Phichit waits for a response, gets nothing, and offers, “How about America? I was going to work with Ciao Ciao first, so I can just stay longer.”

“No.” They were supposed to be changing things up, not falling back on old habits. Plus, Phichit is annoying enough without his friends around.

“Well, I don’t want to train in Korea, either! Your coach scares me.”

Seung-gil cracks a smile. She scares him sometimes, too.

“Satsuki—my other coach—is going back to her old rink in Kobe for the summer. How about neutral territory?”

Seung-gil knows of her. She hasn’t been coaching long, and she smiles a lot. He swallows. New things. “I could go to Kobe.” 

“Yeah?” Phichit’s excitement shines through even over the phone. “That would be perfect, because I’ll be going to Japan this summer anyway for Yuuri and Viktor’s wedding!”

_ Oh. _ That’s why he’s so excited. 

“I’ll talk to her! Or have your coach talk to my coaches—I don’t know how you guys handle this stuff, but let’s make it happen!”

There’s an argument, but Min-so comes around. Fresh faces and fresh ice “might not ruin him.” It’s a short flight so she can check in easily, but Seung-gil’s not disappointed that he won’t see her every day. 

Planning his new programs comes first. 

“I want to convey heartbreak,” he tells Min-so, even though Popovich did it last season.

She looks at him like he’s grown another head. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I’ll find a new coach.”

She narrows her eyes. “You have to play to your strengths, and emotion is not one of them. Focus on your jumps and flexibility.”

If he doesn’t push himself, he’s never going to grow. “I can do both.”

“You don’t even know what a broken heart feels like,” she snaps.

Blowing his shot at the Grand Prix Final sure felt like heartbreak.

When he was nine, Seung-gil let his dog Yeonga off her leash and she got hit by a car. He didn’t leave his room for a week, not even to skate, and didn’t speak to anyone for two months. That had to be close. 

“You can’t stop me. And if you don’t have me, who do you have in 2018? Park Ji-yoo?” Seung-gil is her only chance at a medal, and he’s a long shot.

Min-so agrees to call the choreographer. 

Channeling heartbreak is even harder than he thought it would be, but Min-so’s song suggestion works, so he doesn’t argue—she even helps him get an arrangement he can stand.

Phichit has work to do, too, and a wedding to attend, but he still manages to send daily updates (which Seung-gil ignores). 

After a couple of weeks, Phichit sends links to apartments. Seung-gil doesn’t need help finding a place—his spoken Japanese is okay and he can read it pretty well—but it’s probably time to start looking. 

_ I can’t read this at all but Yuuri says these places will do short-term leases  
Can you help me? I don’t want to keep bothering him before the wedding _

Seung-gil’s glad he’s not invited. 

He taps one of the links. If a one-room apartment costs this much, there’s no way he can afford anything bigger. And he’ll need to use Google translate to make sense of some of the policies. 

Phichit texts him the cost but the number is half as much as it should be. Maybe Phichit misunderstood the website. Unless…

Seung-gil reads his text again and his stomach turns. Phichit wants to room together.

Seung-gil has never roomed with anyone in his life. He’s an only child who rarely sees his parents. His former teachers and coaches all had the same critique: “Doesn’t play well with others.” That’s partly why he sticks with Min-so—she doesn’t care. She probably heard the same thing when she was young.

Given the lack of a strong skating history in Thailand, he always figured Phichit was independently wealthy, or at least making money off his social media. He probably just wants someone to talk at. Seung-gil sends a reply.

_ I want my own place. _

If Phichit got paid in words texted per second, he could buy out the whole apartment complex. 

_｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡_  
_Nooo I’m so poor rn_  
_I can’t afford that_  
_Please room with me Seung-gil!!_  
_ｍ(｡≧Д≦｡)ｍ_  
_I’m a really good roommate!!!!!!_  
_Just ask Yuuri_  
_And my hamsters are staying home!_  
_So don’t worry about that_  
_My sister will take care of them_  
_Are you bringing your dog tho?  
_ _Because that will make it harder to find a place_

Seung-gil puts the phone down before his eyes cross. Too many questions. Too much information. Too much buzzing.

It’s one thing to train with someone, to see them at the rink and then go home. Seung-gil can ignore anyone, anytime. But Phichit is used to sharing spaces—he probably even likes it—and that makes Seung-gil nervous. Phichit is going to want to socialize all the time, and training is going to be terrible if Seung-gil is the first person Phichit hates. 

His phone keeps buzzing and it’s even louder on the hard table, so he picks it up.

_I don’t care if you snore_  
_I’m a heavy sleeper_  
_Yuuri used to stay up mad late_  
_Never bothered me_  
_Like I’m clean but also not nitpicky_  
_Super easygoing too_  
_Just tell me to shut up and I will_  
_Basically I’m the perfect roommate_  
_Like  
_ _Try not to fall in love with me_

Seung-gil almost chucks his phone in the trash, but it can’t go to landfill so he replies with  _ Shut up  _ and the texts stop for one blissful moment.

Until Phichit calls him. Seung-gil’s finger hovers over the lock button but he picks up. For the sake of his skating. 

“What?” It comes out more like a statement than a question.

“Please, Seung-gil? I could get a place farther away but then I’ll have to take more trains and get up earlier and don’t you think it’ll be just a little bit fun?”

“No.”

Phichit sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to drag out the big guns, but do you know how much Kobe beef costs?”

Kobe beef. Why didn’t he make the connection right away? He knows  _ exactly _ how much it costs, and it’s worth it. He needs to save his money for wagyu steak.

“Fine.”

“Really? That’s all it takes?” Phichit laughs. “You won’t regret this!”

“I better not,” says Seung-gil before he hangs up. But it’s the right decision. 

Twenty-one square meters is probably enough space for two people. It’s not like he keeps a bunch of knick-knacks around. 

Holly bounds into the room and Seung-gil strokes his head. Missing his dog is going to be the worst part. He takes him out for an extra walk as if it will make up for being gone for almost two months. 

At least they have another month together first. 

Seung-gil works with his normal team, and Phichit’s updates slow to every few days—until the day of the wedding. It’s all anyone can talk about on social media so Seung-gil abstains, but Phichit is determined to make him feel like he’s there. After the fifteenth picture, Seung-gil mutes the conversation, but not before one last text arrives.

_I should have brought you as my date!  
( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)つY_

He turns his phone off.

Saying goodbye to Holly never gets easier, but he’s in good hands with Seung-gil’s parents. No one talks to Seung-gil on the flight so he’s in a good mood when he lands. Phichit’s flight won’t get in until that evening. It’s probably the last moment of peace he’ll have this summer. 

Seung-gil stops at an ATM on his way to the apartment. 

He’s used to small spaces but the place is  _ tiny. _ One bed is lofted and the other is pretty much the floor. Seung-gil is fine with a futon, but Phichit is going to have to step over him to get to the bathroom at night.

Well, neither of them came to Japan just to hang around the apartment.

He heads out to get a SIM card for his phone and familiarize himself with the area. It’s unusually hot for this early in the summer.

Phichit messages him as soon as he lands and Seung-gil wanders back to the apartment.

“Hey, roommate!” says Phichit when he arrives. The apartment feels even smaller with two bodies in it, but Phichit packs light, too. “Looks like we’ll be getting really comfortable with each other this summer, huh? Good thing neither of us smells bad.”

Since when does Phichit know how he smells? He doesn’t respond, but Phichit’s already exploring the rest of the apartment. It doesn’t take him long. 

“Phew, there’s an air conditioner.” Phichit holds up his phone to the unit and squints at his translation app. “What’s _Goodnight Mode_?” 

“It runs for an hour and shuts off.”

Phichit recoils like Seung-gil threatened his hamsters. “Seriously?”

“It’s wasteful to let it run all night.” Seung-gil doesn’t buy into the whole death-by-fan hysteria, but he doesn’t see the point of leaving it on when everyone’s asleep. 

Phichit sits down on the bed even though Seung-gil hasn’t mentioned that he’s taking the futon. “Tell that to my dead body after heat stroke gets me.” 

Seung-gil raises an eyebrow. This summer’s supposed to be hotter than average, but it can’t be any hotter than Thailand. “You’re from a tropical country.” 

“A tropical country with air conditioning. Mold is a thing, Seung-gil!” Phichit moans. “I’ll wake up all sweaty.”

“Shower in the morning.”

“Sure, I’ll just flip my whole routine around,” Phichit says, sitting up. 

Seung-gil heads for the door. “I’m going to check out the rink.” Not to skate, but staking out the rink is better than sitting around listening to Phichit complain.

“Wait up! We’re training together, right? And you don’t even know my coach.”

That’s a good point. Seung-gil doesn’t want to face her without Phichit.

The thought stops him in his tracks. Since when is Phichit his security blanket? 

“We can get dinner, too!” Phichit has his shoes on before Seung-gil even has a foot in one.

Phichit takes pictures of everything on the way but Seung-gil is still rationalizing when they get to the station. He never gets travel nerves, but he’s never lived with anyone before. Are roommate nerves a thing? 

“I wanna try that place,” Phichit says, pointing at a closed pudding kiosk in the train station. “Remind me sometime.”

“You really think you’re going to forget?” Seung-gil asks.

“I know you won’t.” When Seung-gil doesn’t respond, Phichit asks, “What was my score at the Cup of China last year?”

“285.76 points.” Phichit just smiles at him, but Seung-gil wants confirmation. “Right?”

Phichit shrugs. “I don’t remember. See? You’re helping me already!”

He can’t remember the score that got him his first senior gold medal? Maybe he does need help.

They just miss Satsuki when they get to the rink, but it’s a decent facility. Phichit introduces them both to the support staff and Seung-gil never has to say a word. It’s nice.

They end up at a cheap beef bowl place for dinner. Seung-gil doesn’t mind talking when it results in food, but Phichit’s Japanese is good enough to order for himself.

“I wonder if the grocery store is still open,” Phichit muses as he chews. 

“Probably not,” says Seung-gil. He should have thought of that when he was wandering. 

“How do you want to divvy it up?"

“I buy my things. You buy yours.” It’s not complicated.

Phichit laughs. “Easy enough. You can help yourself to anything of mine.”

“No.” They’re already going to be training together. Seung-gil doesn’t want to add any physical possessions into the mix. He’d have to make a spreadsheet. Phichit just smiles and eats his rice.

They exchange stretching routines the next morning and Seung-gil’s muscles welcome the change. 

The moment they’re on the ice, Phichit grabs him by the neck to take a selfie.

“Phone down,” Seung-gil says, sounding frighteningly like Min-so.

“Hang on, I just thought of the perfect caption!” Phichit talks as he types, “ _@seung-gillee didn’t come here to make friends._ ”

What’s that supposed to mean? “We came here to work.”

“Oh my god,” Phichit blurts. “Adding a comment. _@seung-gillee, colon, we came here to work_.”

Skating off without him does the trick.

Once Phichit gets on task, he’s a quick study. They compare on-ice warm ups, and his body likes that, too. 

Best of all, by the end of just two days of practice,  Seung-gil’s quad toe loop is properly rotated more often than not.

“Pudding,” says Seung-gil as they walk through the station. 

Phichit’s mouth drops open. “You remembered!” 

Seung-gil stands off to the side while Phichit gets his custard pudding. He coos at it the whole ride back, poses it with a hamster plush at the apartment for a picture, then makes up a song about it while he eats.

“I love summer, I can eat what I want…” He holds up his spoon in Seung-gil’s direction, still singing. “Yum, yum, yum, do you want a bite, Seung-gil?”

“That doesn’t rhyme.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He wiggles the spoon in the air like he’s feeding a baby. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a no.” He wouldn’t eat off of Phichit’s spoon even if he liked pudding.

Phichit shrugs. “Suit yourself!” 

By the end of the week, their new training routines are set. They’re probably more intense than they should be, but they both promise their coaches to take it easy.

It turns out Phichit isn’t any better at taking it easy than he is. 

“I think it’s time.” Phichit glides to a stop next to Seung-gil and almost purrs, “I want you to break my hips, Seung-gil.” 

Seung-gil spits out his water. “What?”

“What?” Phichit echoes, feigning innocence. “If anything’s going to wreck my hips, it’ll be the quad loop.”

Seung-gil has to skate a few laps to recover, but once he stops coughing, they work on it.

Later, Phichit films Seung-gil practicing for Min-so. The production quality is better than broadcast.

“I suppose he’s useful,” she says when they watch the footage over the phone. 

Missing his birthday is just another perk of training in a foreign country, but Seung-gil’s parents still call him that morning. He keeps quiet and hopes Phichit doesn’t understand enough Korean to figure it out. 

Of course, Phichit’s in his face as soon as he hangs up. “Happy birthday!”

“Don’t listen to my calls.”

“I wasn’t listening.” Phichit dangles his earbuds in front of Seung-gil’s nose, then holds up his phone and adds, “You’re trending!”

Sure enough, #happybirthdayseunggil is all over Phichit’s Twitter feed. 

Seung-gil clicks his tongue, but mutters, “Sorry.” 

“As in, _Sorry I didn’t tell you my birthday was coming up, Phichit?_ ” 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is! If we were in America, you’d be legal to drink!”

Seung-gil frowns. “The drinking age in Japan is 20.”

“If you’re trying to get out of going out with me, then you'll need to try harder than that!”

Seung-gil panics for a second before he remembers  _ going out _ doesn’t always mean dating.

“Okay, I'll go,” says Seung-gil. “To practice.”

“Deal.” Phichit’s grin can’t be trusted. “And  _ then _ we go out drinking.” 

Seung-gil narrows his eyes, ready to refuse until Phichit pouts and offers, “Steak?”

It’s all he thinks about during practice, and it carries him through when everyone at the rink sings  _ Happy Birthday _ to him. 

“I’m thinking this place,” says Phichit as they’re packing up to go home. One look at the picture on his phone is enough to convince Seung-gil. “You guys want to come?” 

Aya shakes her head and Suguru says, “Too expensive.” 

Yuuto has to go to the studio, but suggests an izakaya to meet at later that night. Seung-gil is so focused on steak he agrees. 

They drop off their things, change, and head to Harborland, Phichit filming for his SnapChat all the while. “Can you believe this one,” he points his phone at Seung-gil, “didn’t tell me today was his birthday? Happy Birthday, Seung-gil!” He says it in Korean, Thai, and Japanese, too, and Seung-gil glares at the camera.

Phichit taps the screen and grins. “Don’t worry, friends, I found the way to his heart, and it is Kobe beef!” 

It’s hard to be annoyed when lunch is so close he can taste it.

Harborland is what some people might call _cute_. There’s a huge ferris wheel and Phichit pouts when Seung-gil refuses to ride.

“Buy me dinner first,” he says. Phichit bursts into laughter. 

The restaurant smells like heaven, but it’s even fancier than it looked on the website and Seung-gil says, “You don’t have to pay.”

“They take credit cards,” Phichit insists. “It’s your birthday!” 

As if Seung-gil could forget. He sticks to water. Once they order, he realizes how couple-y the place is. Harborland feels couple-y in general.

“You know, in America, the servers sing to you on your birthday,” says Phichit. 

Seung-gil frowns. “Sounds like torture.”

“We went out for Yuuri’s birthday one year and they tried to make him wear this giant hat. He wanted to die.” Phichit flashes him a smirk. “But he ate the free dessert.”

“Not worth it,” says Seung-gil. He stares out the window at the harbor and wonders if this is what a date is like.

He digs in the moment the food arrives. Phichit takes a picture of him with his plate and does that talking-while-he-types thing again. It’s the first time Seung-gil hears someone say the words “heart eyes emoji” out loud. 

“Just let me enjoy this,” Seung-gil says. He’s torn—the world should know about this steak, but at the same time, he doesn’t want anyone else to eat it but him (and Phichit, since he’s paying). Phichit takes a picture of his own plate before he eats, and Seung-gil watches him take his first bite.

“Oh my god, I want in on this threeway,” he moans. Seung-gil almost chokes. He downs his entire glass of water while Phichit writhes in his seat. “It feels so good inside of me,” he sighs, and Seung-gil can't take it anymore.

“Stop.” 

“I’m not making fun of you. It really is that good.” Phichit tries his infectious smile. “You know you were thinking it, too.”

Seung-gil narrows his eyes. “I was thinking I didn’t sign up to train with Christophe Giacometti.” They were attached at the hip in all the wedding pictures. Then again, maybe Phichit is like this all the time. 

“Just wait until you see my new free skate,” says Phichit with a wink. 

Seung-gil curls his lip. It’s not bad enough to ruin the steak, but he’s not enjoying himself as much as he was before.

Phichit’s smile shrinks under his glare. They eat in silence for a while and it’s the best birthday present Phichit could give him.

“Speaking of Chris,” Phichit begins, “how would you feel about attempting the Lutz next?”

Phichit has yet to nail the loop consistently, and Seung-gil frowns. Only a few skaters do a quad Lutz. “Why?”

“I just think it’d be fun to tackle it with you.”

It’s probably just the meat, but it’s the first time Seung-gil feels like smiling all day. Phichit’s grin comes back in full force and he doesn’t even bat an eye when he pays for their expensive meal.

“Thanks,” says Seung-gil. “It was good.”

“Pretty high praise from you.” Phichit stretches his arms high over his head and winces. “Ah, now I’ve got the meat sweats.”

It takes more than a steak to get Seung-gil to that point. “I’d buy you barbecue on your birthday next year but you probably couldn’t handle that much meat.”

Phichit snorts. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Seung-gil has to think about it for a minute. “You know what I meant.”

“Either way, you’re on,” says Phichit. Seung-gil doesn’t know what to make of that so he heads for the station. Phichit tugs at the back of his shirt. “Hold on! I need to walk this off, and I want to take some more pictures.”

“You can find your own way back,” says Seung-gil. If he’s going to the izakaya later (and that’s a big _if_ ) he’s going to need some time to himself to recharge. 

“Okay.” Phichit looks like Holly when he pouts. “I mean, it is your birthday…”

Pouting is not going to work.

“And I just spent like half my checking account balance on you, but it’s cool…”

It always works when Holly does it, too.

“Fine.” 

Phichit grins and bounces on his heels, but the movement disagrees with him. He cringes and  clutches his stomach. “Do you eat like this all the time? How do you even skate?”

Phichit would probably appreciate another meat joke, but Seung-gil just shrugs. He doesn’t eat like that when he has a competition, and Phichit knows it. No need to explain himself. 

There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than following Phichit around an arcade. The pout doesn’t work for purikura, but they do play a driving game together, and they’re both instant prodigies at a new rhythm game.

Aya, Suguru, and Yuuto are already there when they make it to the izakaya.

“Did you have a nice date?” asks Aya. She probably doesn’t know the correct English word.

“So much meat,” Phichit says, rubbing his stomach. Aya stifles a laugh. 

Seung-gil looks at the list of specials on the wall. “I could go for some beef tongue.”

“Drinks first!” Yuuto exclaims. “It’s your birthday!”

Socializing with everyone sober sounds like a nightmare so Seung-gil goes along with it. 

They toast and drink and it’s been a long time since Seung-gil had any alcohol. It’s not going to be pretty, but by the time the drinks catch up with him, he’s too drunk to care.

“Suguru…” Seung-gil draws out the middle syllable of his name and pets his head. He misses Holly. “You feel like my dog.”

“Hey!” Suguru protests.

“It’s a compliment! He’s really soft. And you spin really nice.”

“You too, man.” Suguru pats him stiffly on the back and Seung-gil leans in to kiss his cheek. Suguru pulls away and yelps, shooting a nervous look at Aya.

“Doesn't bother me,” says Aya, who holds her liquor better than all of them.

“I’ll kiss you, Seung-gil!” says Yuuto. They share a quick peck and he blurts out, “You're my favorite skater.”

Seung-gil can’t remember a thing about Yuuto so he says, “Right back at you.” 

Phichit explodes into giggles and he’s so adorable Seung-gil can’t stand it. He releases Yuuto and turns to Phichit. How is it they’ve been living together for a week but they still haven’t kissed? 

“You bought me the best steak of my life and I like you.” Seung-gil wraps his arms around him and stares at his lips, but Phichit swerves at the last second and the kiss lands on his cheek. It stings, but at least he returns the hug.

“It’s your birthday!” Phichit exclaims, petting his back. “And you’re teaching me how to do a quad loop.”

Yuuto pouts and he’s nowhere near as cute as Holly or Phichit. “What? Teach us, too!” 

“No,” snaps Seung-gil, pulling Phichit closer. “Just Phichit. He’s special.”

Phichit flashes Yuuto a smug smile and it hits Seung-gil hard. Looking back at him, Phichit’s says, “You think I’m special? In that case…” He taps two fingers against his own cheek as he trails off. Seung-gil takes the hint (because alcohol makes him smart) and kisses him there again and again, getting closer to his mouth each time. Their rinkmates make catcalls but Phichit doesn’t pull back until someone takes a picture. “No, no, no, don’t post that!”

“Why not?” Seung-gil wonders. Since when does Phichit censor his social media? “I love you and I don’t care who knows.”

“Oh my god, I’m cutting you off!” Phichit steals his sake right out of his hands and downs it himself. “We’re going home!” 

There’s a chorus of “awws” and Seung-gil thinks he’s part of it. They settle the bill and Aya throws Seung-gil’s wallet in his face without taking any of his money. No one will let Phichit pay, either. 

They part ways at the station and the alcohol turns on Seung-gil on the train. Luckily, his head is already resting on Phichit’s shoulder. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he says. “How are you not dead?”

“Practice,” Phichit replies. “You gonna throw up?”

Seung-gil’s stomach turns. “Wasn't gonna until you mentioned it.”

“It’s okay. You might feel better. Just try not to throw up on me.”

“Please stop saying”—Seung-gil hiccups—“ _throw up_.”

“Sorry.” 

The rest of the ride is silent, but the way Phichit strokes his back is nice. It’s the only thing that keeps him from emptying his stomach. “Did you ever do this for Yuuri?” he asks.

Phichit stirs like he’s half asleep. “Hmm?” 

The train speakers chime. Their stop is next, and Seung-gil can’t remember what he just asked. Phichit doesn’t push him to repeat.

They get home somehow, because Seung-gil wakes up the next morning to Phichit’s snores. He crawls out of bed but doesn’t really feel like himself until he sprays water on his face in the shower. 

Seung-gil is ready but Phichit’s still in bed, looking at his phone. He looks up and sneers, and it’s the first time Seung-gil’s seen him look mad. 

“How are you up and around?” Phichit demands. 

“I don’t get hangovers.”

His scowl deepens. “I hate you.” 

The words prickle at the back of Seung-gil’s brain, but he fills two glasses of water and hands one to Phichit, who takes it with a funny look on his face. A violent flashback to kissing his cheek at the izakaya leaves Seung-gil a little dizzy. “Sorry about last night. When I drink, I get a little…”

“Affectionate?” Phichit supplies. “You kissed everyone.”

Just another reason to abstain from drinking for the rest of this trip. Maybe forever. “Won’t happen again.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Phichit sits up to drink his water and cringes. “What’s today? I don’t even remember.”

“Cardio,” says Seung-gil, and Phichit swears. “I’ll go and you can come when you feel like it." Seung-gil's words are flowing easier than before. Maybe he’s still a little drunk.  

“No, I’m coming. Just let me shower.” Phichit stretches and gets out of bed. He’s not wearing any pants. The easy moment breaks and Seung-gil looks away. 

It’s ridiculous. He must be out of it if the sight of Phichit in his underwear warms his cheeks. Phichit has every right to be comfortable in his own living space. He could go around naked if he wanted.

Seung-gil hopes he doesn’t.

He downs the rest of his water in one go and refills the cup. He checks his phone, ignoring the barrage of birthday messages from yesterday. The comments on the picture of him making heart eyes at his steak are interesting.

_ ok but are they on a date?? harborland is suuuuper romantic _

_ Calm down. They’re training together and it’s Seung-gil’s birthday. _

_ whatever tf they are i hope he put out. those prices are :o _

Seung-gil closes the app.

They arrive just as Suguru and Yuuto are leaving, and both of them look like death. Physical activity is supposed to be good for hangovers, but it’s ridiculous how quickly Phichit perks up.

The next time they hit the ice, Seung-gil feels a spark of pride every time Phichit lands his quad loop, even though he’s not the one jumping. No one has broken any hips yet.

The pride comes back when Phichit raves about it on the phone with Yuuri that night, but Seung-gil tunes them out once they start talking about the honeymoon.

Seung-gil finishes cooking, and Phichit ends the call. They eat together, clean the tiny kitchen together, and then Phichit watches a movie with headphones in so Seung-gil can read. There are probably worse roommates out there.

Seung-gil never gets homesick, but when his mom sends a picture of Holly later that week, he thinks about visiting. He settles for posting the picture to his Instagram instead—his first update since arriving in Japan. Phichit likes it immediately.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—Holly isn’t a Korean name, is it?”

Seung-gil looks up at him. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Of course, Phichit asks, “So is there a story there?”

It’s none of Phichit’s business and Seung-gil never answers this question for interviews. “It’s short for Hollywood.”

“As in LA?”

“As in my mom has a crush on a British baker with bright blue eyes,” Seung-gil mutters. Phichit still looks lost and stumping him tickles Seung-gil more than it should. He texts Phichit a picture of his dog’s namesake even though they’re in the same room. 

“I see the resemblance!” Seung-gil’s just gone back to his book when Phichit says, “Hey, do you want to meet Yuuri and Viktor in Kyoto next month?”

“Are they still on their honeymoon?” Maybe they’re too distracted to take off season training seriously. Probably not, but it’s a funny thought. 

“No, but Viktor’s always wanted to see Gion Matsuri. Me too, to be honest.”

“Then you should go with them,” says Seung-gil.

“I mean, as delicious as the Insta feed will be, would you want to third-wheel with newlyweds?” Phichit asks. “Especially those particular newlyweds?” 

The only thing that sounds worse is a quasi-double date with them. “They’re your friends.”

“Can I tempt you with festival food?” That trick won’t work more than once and Seung-gil stays silent. Phichit sighs, but he’s still smiling. “Just think about it, please?”

Seung-gil makes no such promise.

All is forgotten in the morning, and they’re both making strides on their new programs. Over the next week, Seung-gil puts in extra time in anticipation of Min-so’s visit and Phichit is quiet company.

“Can’t let you get ahead of me,” he says with a wink. He’s due to check in with Celestino in Detroit the week after, anyway.

It hasn’t even been a month and training with Min-so again feels weird. His old warm ups are shaky and Min-so’s not happy—she’s probably thinking “I told you so.”

Things go much smoother when he switches to the regimen he and Phichit have been using. Min-so raises her eyebrows but she doesn’t look so smug anymore. 

Seung-gil runs through his free skate so far and she doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“It’s different.” Her lips twitch and it clicks—she can’t find anything to complain about. Seung-gil smirks and she says, “Again.”

This time, she has complaints. It’s probably just the distance, but her coaching is easier to take when he has time with Phichit to balance it out.

She stays for just under a week, but it feels like they’ve made a month’s progress.

Min-so even sits in with him and Phichit a few times. Phichit is stiffer when she’s around, but she does give him a little feedback. 

“Better than last season,” she says, which is nicer than anything she ever says to Seung-gil. “Try not to leave as many points on the table this year."

Seung-gil agrees with her, but he hasn’t said anything. They’ve only seen bits and pieces of each other’s programs so far—anything more is outside the scope of their agreement (as open-ended as it is). He hasn’t even told Phichit what he’s working on.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Phichit asks, more polite to her than Seung-gil ever is.

“Ask Seung-gil.” 

That might be the nicest thing she’s ever said about him. It’s the Phichit Effect—he brings out the best in everyone. Then again, she didn’t offer to help Phichit herself.

“Would you?” Phichit asks, turning to him. Seung-gil shrugs and Phichit’s grin widens. “We can compare notes when I get back from Detroit. Maybe I can help you, too!”

Seung-gil agrees. He has a week to get his programs in order, though he’s not sure why he’s more apprehensive about showing them to Phichit than showing them to Min-so.

“Min-so’s pretty stingy with the compliments, but she’s not as scary as I thought she’d be,” muses Phichit as he finishes packing that night.

“She likes you.”

“Maybe.” Phichit closes his suitcase and looks around. There’s no room on the floor so he puts it back under the loft next to Seung-gil’s. “I bet you’re looking forward to peace and quiet, huh?”

Seung-gil unfolds his futon. “Space, mostly.”

“Let the record show I offered to practice in America.” Phichit gets into bed and adds, “You can sleep up here if you want. While I’m gone, I mean.”

Seung-gil will not be doing that. 

It doesn’t hit him right away because he’s got practice with Min-so in the morning. She says “Good work” before she leaves for the airport and Seung-gil wants to tell Phichit but he’s on a plane for Detroit. 

Practicing without Phichit is okay. With all the updates he sends, it’s like he never left. Yuuto and Suguru are agreeable enough, and Satsuki’s voice doesn’t sound like nails on a chalkboard anymore. 

The apartment feels bigger, but Seung-gil finds reasons to practice longer and train later, on and off the ice. 

He goes out to eat by himself, even tries sending a picture of his ramen to Phichit (the 20 texts he gets in response ensure he will never make that mistake again). 

Phichit only calls when the Grand Prix assignments go out, and Seung-gil doesn’t mind. He has Skate America and Phichit has Skate Canada, but they’re both invited to the Trophée de France.

When the rain moves in, Seung-gil takes Phichit’s umbrella by mistake. It works better than his own, so he uses it all week. 

The day Phichit is due back is quiet, and Seung-gil comes home from the studio to find him face down on the bed. Detroit to Kansai is a brutal—lots of connections—so he closes the door as softly as he can.

“You forgot your phone,” Phichit says into his pillow.

Seung-gil pats his pocket. It’s empty. “I didn’t notice.”

Phichit rolls over, eyes still closed. He mumbles “Missed you,” then lets out a little snore like he was never awake at all. Seung-gil has eight missed texts, all from him.

That night, he eats his dinner in the dark and reads his book by the bathroom light. 

“I have so much to show you!” Phichit announces in the morning. They go to the rink early. Stretching and warming up feels better today.

Phichit shines when he shows off, flashy even in his plain practice clothes. Seung-gil isn’t any closer to absorbing his magnetism, but it’s enough just to watch him. He manages to pay enough attention to give some suggestions.

“Slow down!” Phichit’s thumbs are flying over his phone and there’s a spark in his eyes. “You do math faster than I type.” 

That’s saying something, but Phichit’s not impressed; he’s just fired up about his choreography. 

When he’s caught up on his notes, they try out a few tweaks, but Phichit keeps staring at him instead of working.

“What?” Seung-gil wants to know.

“Huh?” Phichit looks up from Seung-gil’s feet, still flushed from going through his short program. “Oh, sorry! I guess I just missed watching you skate.”

The gears that started turning the night before reach full speed, and Seung-gil realizes he missed Phichit, too. And not just his skating.

“It’s your turn!” Phichit clasps his hands together. “I’m dying to see what you’ve been working on.”

Seung-gil runs through his free skate and it must be decent because when he’s done, all Phichit can say is, “Who did this to you?” 

“My dead dog,” Seung-gil replies. 

Phichit hugs him right there on the ice. “I’m sorry.”

“Holly’s fine.” Seung-gil’s arms remain at his sides, but he doesn’t mind the hug.

“Still,” Phichit squeezes him, “I’m sorry. Losing a pet always hurts.” 

His heart is tight and aches a little when Phichit pulls back. They stare at each other, and Seung-gil says, “Her name was Yeonga. I was nine.”

Phichit gives him a solemn nod and they share a silent moment before actual practice starts. 

Seung-gil forgets all about Phichit’s offer to help him in return until they’re about to go home, and he only remembers because Phichit brings it up. 

“My first recommendation for you, Seung-gil, is off the ice.” They already have intense off-ice training routines (especially for the off season), but Phichit shakes his head like he can follow Seung-gil’s train of thought. “You skate best when you’re not thinking so hard about it, and I think the best way to distract you is with a field trip!”

“Huh?” This is a new level of confusing. 

“We’re all taking the day off for Tanabata!” Satsuki announces, appearing out of nowhere. “Everyone’s been working so hard, but rest and life balance are just as important. I think you should both come, too.” 

A field trip sounds anything but restful. He could stay back and have the whole rink to himself, or he could have a rest day at home. 

Suguru nods. “There’s a big festival in Osaka! They put lights in Okawa river. It’s cool.”

“And romantic,” adds Aya. 

None of this makes Seung-gil want to go. How is a festival for some holiday he’s never heard of going to help him? 

Phichit holds up his phone. “Min-so thinks it’s a good idea.”

Sure enough, he has an ongoing text conversation with Min-so. The words  _ You’re good for him _ jump out at Seung-gil and he frowns. She never says this much to him.

“Why are you texting my coach?” 

“She texted me first!” Phichit tucks his phone away and sweeps a lock of hair to the side. It’s shorter. He cut it in America.

“Most of the younger skaters are going, too. We’ll all wear yukata and take pictures to promote the club,” says Yuuto. 

_Oh_ , Seung-gil thinks, _It’s a promotional thing._ That makes more sense. 

“Trust me, Seung-gil,” Phichit says, meeting his eyes. “Roll with us. Your component scores will thank you.”

“Fine.” 

Seung-gil makes dinner for both of them while Phichit talks about what they’re going to do tomorrow. He doesn’t really take anything in, but it’s nice to eat in. With Phichit.

“I brought extra yukata!” Yuuto announces when they arrive at the rink the next afternoon. He’s carrying his weight in fabric. Seung-gil takes one at random while Phichit spends ages picking the perfect one. 

Suguru and Yuuto help them change and Seung-gil is ready first. Coaches, assistants, parents, and skaters young and old swarm the rink and some of them are fans. Seung-gil takes some pictures and signs some things. Phichit’s eyes go wide when he finds him.

“Whoa, Seung-gil! That really suits you!”

Phichit’s yukata has a subtle red pattern on black and his eyes are lined. Seung-gil’s obi must be tied too tight because he says, “Yours, too,” and he means it. 

“Really?” Phichit pulls his phone out of his yukata sleeve and leans in so close Seung-gil can’t breathe. Satsuki, Yuuto, Suguru, and Aya crowd in behind them and his heart starts pounding in a different way. He feels like he might be sick, but he never looks good in pictures anyway. 

Phichit has fans here, too, so Seung-gil steps away from the crowd. It’s not too late to back out, but apparently this is going to help his skating.

He winds up standing between Phichit and Suguru on the train. Suguru steps closer to Aya (or away from him—he has a hazy memory of trying to kiss Suguru, too).

Phichit taps Seung-gil’s arm with his phone seconds into the ride. “Check this out.”

“Is it a picture of the festival we’re about to go to?”

“Maybe,” says Phichit. “But look how pretty it is!”

Seung-gil closes his eyes. “I’ll see it when we get there.”

“Oh! I got it. No spoilers.”

Seung-gil doesn’t care, but he doesn’t bother correcting him. Phichit talks to Suguru and Aya instead and then he’s shaking Seung-gil awake.

“I didn’t know you could sleep standing up,” says Phichit.

Yuuto looks impressed. “My dad does that, too.”

Phichit grabs Seung-gil’s arm as they walk through the station. “Do you realize we’ve been here for over a month and we haven’t been to Osaka yet?”

“Then you should totally see Dontonbori!” says Yuuto. “You have time. They won’t light up the river until it’s darker.”

Seung-gil is going to be stuck here all day, he realizes with a groan.

Phichit’s reaction is equal but opposite. “Definitely! Let’s go!” 

It’s not all bad, because it means they can break off on their own while the club takes pictures. 

They take another train to a bustling shopping area and Phichit is in his element, gazing up at the colorful signs and sights. He grabs Seung-gil’s arm and points up at the Glico man.

“We have to take a picture here!” 

“Everyone does that,” Seung-gil says, trying to be mean. Phichit just nods excitedly and holds out his phone. 

“Take my picture!” He does the pose. Seung-gil narrows his eyes but obeys. Phichit grabs his phone back and whips out his selfie stick. “Let’s do one together, too!” 

Seung-gil doesn’t do the pose. Just being in the picture is pushing it, but Phichit seems happy.

“Do you want takoyaki before or after dinner?” Seung-gil asks as Phichit updates his Instagram. “Both?” 

Phichit bursts out laughing, but he’s laughing at his phone. “Get this,” he says. “Apparently, this is a famous spot for picking up girls.”

Seung-gil frowns. He could have stayed home.

“Oh my god, you’re so close to a unibrow right now.” Phichit takes a picture and Seung-gil gives him the death stare. “There it is!”

“I’m getting takoyaki without you.”

“Slow down!” Phichit’s sandals slap against his heels as he runs to catch up with Seung-gil. “I’m not interested in picking up girls, either, okay?”

“I know.” Word gets around, and Phichit’s Wikipedia page mentions a pair skater and a hockey player in the _Personal Life_ section.

Phichit makes a thoughtful sound. “I didn’t think you paid attention to that stuff.” 

Seung-gil shrugs. “Sometimes I do.” He’s never had a relationship to hide or broadcast, but he’s not completely against the idea and he wants Phichit to know it. That’s as far as he gets before his mind drifts to food.

“Noted!” They cross the bridge and just when Seung-gil thinks it’s safe, Phichit pokes his ribs and asks, “So, does that mean you were thinking about someone when you did your sexy mambo?”

“Yeah.” That much should be obvious. “Me.” 

Phichit’s eyes go wide. “Okay, that’s hot.”

“No. My score.”

“Oh.” Phichit nods thoughtfully. “That explains it, then. It was creative, but you lost me in the eyes.”

Phichit looks at his eyes when he skates? Seung-gil can’t wrap his head around that, but it’s the kind of critique Min-so never gives him. “How so?”

“It’s like…” He looks up at the sky and purses his lips. “Going through the motions in bed even though you’re not really in the mood? I don’t know. It was close.”

That makes sense, even though Seung-gil’s never _gone through the motions_ anywhere, with anyone. He wanted to do a mambo to break new ground, not because it turned him on. Would it have been better if it had?

“But man, if you were  _ really _ feeling yourself?” Phichit doesn’t elaborate, but his mouth curves up just a bit, his eyes flash darker, and something stirs. Like when Seung-gil first saw him in the yukata. Phichit shrugs and it’s gone. “It’s totally cool to not have those feelings, too. But you asked, so there you go. Takoyaki?” 

The takoyaki stand is a welcome distraction, even though the proprietor launches into rapid, over-friendly conversation in Osaka dialect as if Seung-gil understands. It’s the yukata.

Phichit documents the experience and laughs again as the comments roll in. “Everyone’s pretty sure we’re dating,” he says (even though Seung-gil didn’t ask). 

Seung-gil eats another takoyaki ball so he doesn’t have to think or talk. The savory sauce and fish flakes almost make up for how bread-heavy it is—there’s hardly any octopus. 

“It’s overrated,” he says.

Phichit tilts his head. “Dating?”

“Takoyaki.” 

Phichit snorts and puts his phone back in his sleeve. “I won’t quote you on that.”

They explore and get dinner and Seung-gil ignores everyone who tries to talk to him. It’s more fun just watching Phichit.

Once Phichit’s had his fill of the sights, he leads the way back to Yuuto and the others at the temple. 

“You’re just in time,” says Satsuki. They’ve got colorful pieces of paper. “Do you know about Tanabata?” Phichit nods and Seung-gil shakes his head. Phichit tried to tell him last night, and Seung-gil only half-listens as Satsuki launches into a tale of separated lovers. She finishes with, “So, we write wishes on this paper and they get hung in the tunnel to burn later!”

It sounds wasteful, but Seung-gil writes down the first thing that pops into his head. A photographer takes a picture, but Phichit’s still thinking. When he finally puts pen to paper, he writes in slow, deliberate strokes. Seung-gil hasn’t seen Thai handwriting up close before. It’s pretty.

“What was your wish?” Phichit asks when he’s finally done.

“To gain an advantage this summer.”

Phichit sticks out his tongue. “Wow, that’s no fun.”

It’s just a silly ritual, anyway. Food is the only interesting thing about festivals. “I want yakitori.” 

“Aren’t you going to ask what I wished for?” 

Against his better judgment, Seung-gil takes the bait. “What?”

Phichit winks. “It’s a secret.” He probably thinks he’s being cute. 

“I should have wished for chicken,” says Seung-gil.

“Fine! I wished to land three quads in competition this season.” 

Seung-gil doesn’t know the first thing about Thai, but writing that wish took so long it must be complicated. He should ask Phichit to tell him more about it sometime.

“You wasted your wish,” Seung-gil says. “You’re going to do that anyway.” 

Phichit grins up at him. “If you believe in me, then I definitely will!”

There’s a twinkle in Phichit’s eyes that Seung-gil’s stomach has no idea what to do with, but he has a nagging feeling he’s been lied to.

The bamboo tunnel is all right. The club has reservations for a river cruise to see the lights, which sounds okay, but Phichit pulls him aside.

“You don’t want to go?” Seung-gil blinks. It seems like a Phichit sort of thing. 

Phichit tilts his head back toward the road behind them. “I got a hot tip. Wanna check it out?”

Between group socializing and just Phichit, Seung-gil will pick Phichit every time.

It’s a long walk. They’re not alone, but almost everyone else on the path has a real camera. As much as Phichit likes photography, he doesn’t have a DSLR. Maybe he just didn’t bring it to Japan. 

Soon, they’re climbing stairs and the sandals hurt but Phichit is enthusiastic enough for both of them.

“We made it!” Phichit announces, holding open a rooftop door for Seung-gil and a few people behind him.

Seung-gil turns around and forgets to breathe. They’re high above the river and from up here, the LED lights actually look like stars in the Milky Way. [It’s stunning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3bw-CuKFDc).

So pretty that Phichit doesn’t even take a selfie. He posts a couple shots of the river and skyline, then chuckles at his phone. “Everyone wants to know if you’re with me.”

“So tell them,” says Seung-gil. 

“You don’t mind?”

He shakes his head. “But you have to put your phone down after that.”

“You are so mean,” says Phichit. There’s a valley between them but he fills it with fake stars and takes the picture. Once it uploads, he actually puts his phone away and looks at Seung-gil like he wants a prize. 

Seung-gil pulls out his own phone instead, almost cracking a smile when Phichit’s mouth drops open. 

“Hey!” Phichit grabs for it but those extra couple inches make all the difference—he can’t reach. “Not fair!”

“Never said I couldn’t use mine.” Seung-gil opens Instagram and the picture is at the top of his feed. Ji Guang Hong has the top comment,  _Wow!! Cool!!_ Seung-gil has to agree. He likes the picture. 

“Well, so long as you’re using it for the good of my Insta.” Phichit’s laugh inspires Seung-gil to take a selfie of his own. It’s harder than it looks. Phichit steps closer, says, “Bless your heart,” and guides Seung-gil’s arm to the right spot.

They’re on the same side of the picture this time, shoulders touching. For anyone else it might be romantic, but Seung-gil is as stiff as a mannequin and Phichit can’t stop snickering. 

A smiling couple approaches and Seung-gil braces for impact.

One of them addresses him in Japanese, “You two make an attractive couple! Shall I take your picture?” 

Because his selfies suck even with Phichit’s help, Seung-gil mutters something affirmative, and the other one giggles. It’s not the first time his annoyance has been mistaken for shyness. “First love, isn’t it?” says the giggler. 

Seung-gil wonders how good Phichit’s Japanese is getting, but Phichit just makes a peace sign and smiles for the camera. Seung-gil mimics him, minus the smile.

The picture comes out better than either of the selfies, and he mumbles a “Thanks.” They're still giggling about nostalgia as they retreat to the other side of the roof.

“What did they say?” Phichit asks, leaning in to look at his photo. It feels like a test.

“That we look nice,” says Seung-gil. It isn’t a total lie, but the look in Phichit’s eyes tells him he failed.

All he says is, “You should post that one.”

Seung-gil blames the fake stars and the Phichit Effect, but he posts the picture (with comments disabled). It gets more likes than all his other photos combined. He puts his phone away and looks up at Phichit.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Phichit speaks without looking at him. He’s leaning on the railing, gazing out at the river, surrounded by hazy dots of blue and yellow and his smile is so, so bright. 

Glad he came to Osaka? Not really. But up here?

Seung-gil smiles as he follows Phichit back downstairs.

Tanabata was a fluke, and the rain comes back to stay. Seung-gil is back to his own umbrella but the rain keeps them inside and focused. His programs are finally looking presentable and he can do a decent quad Lutz, among other new tricks. 

When the heat moves in, it’s enough to make him miss the rain. Phichit and Seung-gil already spend the hottest hours of the day training, but now they spend all their downtime in the apartment. 

“Ruthai says I have to watch this show,” Phichit says. “You in? It has subtitles.”

Seung-gil looks down at his book and realizes he’s been reading the same line over and over again. 

He’s heard of the show—it’s Thai and it's not new, but it made the rounds in Korea last year. Seung-gil only knows because his parents mentioned it. They still flip out about his free skate music every time they call. _Yes, it’s a drama theme,_ he explains, _but it’s moody and haunting._ Unexpected for Seung-gil? Definitely. Unconventional arrangement? Yes. It checks all the boxes, but it doesn’t mean Seung-gil suddenly likes sappy TV shows. 

It’s complicated. 

“I can just put in my headphones,” Phichit offers.

“Don’t bother. I can read with background noise.” 

Seung-gil can and does, but Phichit keeps laughing so he keeps looking up. Phichit catches him, but instead of making a big deal about it, he just points out little cultural nuances and mentions when he doesn’t agree with the subtitles. Before long it’s three o’clock in the morning and they’ve watched five episodes.

They finish the show a couple days later and Seung-gil has the beginnings of a new exhibition skate in his head.

“Did you like it?” Phichit asks.

“It was okay.”

He doesn’t tell Min-so, Phichit, or his parents about his plans, all for different reasons.

The forecast calls for record highs and humidity as July marches on. It’s hot enough to have Seung-gil eating his words about running the air conditioning overnight, but even though it’s only 7 o’clock in the morning and the poor unit is already struggling to catch up, he refuses to give in.

“The ice is going to melt,” Phichit moans. He wears less and less every day and he’s down to a tank top and shorts as he eats breakfast. It’s getting hard to look at him. “I don’t want to go outside.”

Seung-gil hasn’t been able to drag himself out of bed yet. He’s still wearing his normal pajamas out of sheer stubbornness. The air conditioner is his hill to die on and he doesn’t know why. 

“The rink will be cold.”

“So, we go outside and sweat our asses off, then bundle up and freeze our asses off, then go back outside and melt,” Phichit says. “Awesome.”

“But the rink will be cold.”

Phichit lets out a bitter laugh. “Saying that isn’t going to make it cold in here.”

Changing into full coverage warm up gear sounds like the worst thing ever but Seung-gil isn’t about to go to the rink in pajamas. He rolls over just as Phichit stands up and they make eye contact. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Phichit announces, whipping his shirt over his head. Seung-gil squeezes his eyes shut. “A cold one.”

A cold shower sounds like a good idea. Because it’s hot outside and Seung-gil isn’t built for heat. 

He rolls onto his back. Maybe suffering will inspire his free skate.

The next night, Phichit finally trips over him in the middle of the night. “Shit!” 

Seung-gil glares in the direction of Phichit’s foot. “Were you going to turn the air conditioner on?”

“Just for a little bit!”

“No. It’s expensive, and the power might go out.”

“It’s just one room,” Phichit whines. “One tiny, sweaty room on the sixth floor with no ventilation. Heat _rises_ , Seung-gil.”

It’s much too late (early?) to argue. How does Phichit survive in his own country? 

“Let’s use more power, then,” Seung-gil mutters. “That’ll make the planet cooler.” 

“The heat makes you sassy and it’s not cute at all.” Phichit sinks back into bed, but he adds, “Oh, and the shirt’s coming off. Deal with it.”

His shirt lands next to the futon—first blood—and Seung-gil has to meditate for an hour to fall back asleep. 

Practice is a blissfully cold reward until the brownout. Then, the generator fails and they can’t practice at all. 

“Just let me sleep on the ice,” Phichit begs. It’s the first good idea he’s had in days but the rink closes and there’s no escaping the heat. The emergency radio blames the heavy draw from air conditioners. 

“I told you air conditioners were bad.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Seung-gil.” 

He calls the studio, but it’s out, too, and so is the gym. There’s a pool at the athletic center, but it’s packed and Phichit looks good in his swimsuit and if the power doesn’t come back on soon Seung-gil might lose his mind. 

“Let’s just go home,” says Phichit. They’re already at the apartment so he must mean their home countries. Their days together are dwindling to single digits anyway, but even the thought of his well-ventilated house in Seoul doesn’t make him feel better. At least he’ll get to see Holly.

Seung-gil ignores him and tries to sleep, but it’s too hot. Even if Phichit weren’t writhing every few seconds, Seung-gil would have been awake. He’s sweltering in his pajamas but he’s not about to admit defeat and take them off. 

Okay, maybe his pants. 

Before Seung-gil can move, Phichit’s blanket and pillow hit the floor and he flops off his bed and onto them. In his underwear. And nothing else. If Seung-gil reached out, he’d hit skin, and he goes rigid.

“What are you doing?” 

Phichit’s pillow drowns his voice. “It’s cooler down here.” 

“You’re naked.”

“Not yet,” he retorts. “Thinking about it.”

Seung-gil can’t stop the strangled cough that comes out of him. Does pretending to be asleep count as resting? 

Phichit shifts to face him (Seung-gil can tell even though he’s not looking). “Oh, I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Seung-gil lies. He doesn’t know what to make of Phichit’s tone. “It’s hot. In here. It’s hot in here.” 

“ _So take off all your clothes?_ ” Phichit mumbles the words, but there’s a lazy melody to it. “Sorry. It’s an American song.”

“Make it your exhibition.” Maybe Phichit is right about the heat making him sarcastic. 

“Stripping on ice?” Phichit says. “Fine, I’ll do it, but only if you join me. Or are you some kind of never nude?”

Possessed by the heat and references that fly over his head, Seung-gil takes off his pants and throws them in the direction Phichit’s voice is coming from—return fire.

“What the—” Phichit gasps. “You’re serious?”

But for the first time in a long time, he’s  _ not _ serious. He’s  _ silly.  _ It’s too damn hot to think about it, and Seung-gil removes his shirt and lobs that at Phichit, too. There’s no relief, so he rolls over and forces himself to look at his roommate. “What comes next?”

Phichit blinks. He’s still holding Seung-gil’s pajamas, and he sets them aside on his blanket. “Are you having a heatstroke?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.” Just a little hot. And bothered. He’s been like this for days, just too stubborn to acknowledge it. As if ignoring it would make it go away.

Phichit gapes at him. “Are we dying? Hallucinating? Because this is the last thing I expected from you.”

“You don’t want it to happen?” Seung-gil isn’t even sure what  _ it _ is. Whatever it is, it’s not going to cool them down, but if it doesn’t happen, he’s never going to sleep again. 

There’s a long pause before Phichit replies. “I didn’t say that.”

Seung-gil’s frozen on his futon, or maybe it’s just so hot that he can’t move. Aren’t molecules supposed to move faster in higher temperatures? Phichit crawls over to him then, and who is he to deny empirical proof?

“What, exactly, are you asking for?” Phichit asks. There’s still space between them, but it’s the closest Seung-gil has been to a (mostly) naked person in his life. He wouldn’t want it to be anyone but Phichit. 

Seung-gil can’t even find the words. He swallows, mouth dry. “Whatever you want.”

Phichit shakes his head. Shifts closer. “Not good enough. Tell me what you want to do.” His eyes finish the sentence,  _ Because I don’t want you to regret it. _

Seung-gil is blunt, but he’s not very articulate. It’s easier to move his body on the ice than off, but even then, he gets caught up in what he thinks he’s supposed to say and do. What the judges want to see. Select bits of advice from his coach. 

What Phichit wants matters, too, but he’s letting Seung-gil choose, and even Seung-gil doesn’t afford himself that privilege often.

He reaches for Phichit’s hands and pulls him the rest of the way onto the futon. “I want to kiss you,” he manages. 

That’s all it takes to get Phichit’s mouth on his. Maybe he’s just bored or delirious or desperate for a distraction, but he’s kissing Seung-gil like he likes it. Like maybe he’s been wanting it for a while.

It’s Seung-gil’s first sober kiss, and no one else will ever measure up.

The heat is a blessing now. Phichit runs his hands from Seung-gil’s chest to his shoulders, skin sticking, dragging, almost burning. Sweat and goosebumps send him back to the first time he landed a quad loop, only this time it’s not just him. 

Bringing another body into the equation throws everything off—even worse, that body has a brain and a heart, with thoughts and emotions and wants and needs that change in ways he can’t predict. 

Phichit rolls him onto his back and out of his head, and Seung-gil’s hands land on his waist, thumbs in perfect position to trace the grooves of his abdomen. Phichit giggles into the kiss and, inexperienced as Seung-gil is, he isn’t going for tickling, so he tries something else. He tries lots of things.

Phichit  _ would _ be vocal, and if the sounds he makes are to be trusted, hands in his hair are appreciated, fingers on his ribs are not, and anywhere on his back is good. Seung-gil doesn’t dare go lower until he knows what Phichit really wants. 

Tentative fingers test elastic like he’s broadcasting his thoughts and Phichit breaks the kiss to ask, “Can I?” 

Sharing a room means no privacy, ever. Maybe he’s just looking for release, but there’s tenderness in his gaze, and Seung-gil breaks his silence to give permission.

Pleasing someone else just because he wants to is a strange new goal—and not just because there are entire fucking planets between this and the single awkward, tipsy handjob that constitutes his previous sexual experience. His brain and hands aren’t communicating. Seung-gil thinks in terms of regulations, points, and deductions because it’s easier that way. When he misses a jump, he knows what went wrong, but this is all guesswork. Unquantifiable. 

“Don’t think so h-hard.” 

The hitch in Phichit’s voice kills the urge to invent required elements and assign point values, and Seung-gil goes back to trial and error. Push here, gauge reaction; touch there, vocal reward. It works, because Phichit’s down to single English words like _there_ and _again_ and _you_. Seung-gil is too focused on him (and maybe a little too afraid) to give any verbal feedback of his own, but weeks of training and living together are good for more than just skating and Phichit’s gotten shockingly good at interpreting his silences. 

Phichit meets his eyes again and Seung-gil’s last coherent thought is that neither of them is just going through the motions. It’s too much—sloppy, sticky-hot, and hormonal—until lights flash, the floor rumbles beneath him, and all his half-formed feelings have to go somewhere. Phichit makes a startled noise when Seung-gil’s mouth covers his but then Phichit won’t let him pull away and they’re kissing each other through it and this is definitely, definitely how his heart is going to break.

It’s not until air from the oscillating fan hits them that Seung-gil realizes the power came back on—but maybe the earth shifted, too. 

Phichit takes a few deep breaths and laughs. It’s joyful, not cruel, but the way they’re pressed together makes it too intimate. Seung-gil looks away.

“Are we gonna talk about how the power came back on right when we—” 

“No.” Seung-gil’s not embarrassed but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it out loud. 

Phichit snickers and gets up. Seung-gil closes his eyes, unable to do anything but let the fan dry his skin. The bedding needs to be changed and he needs to clean himself up, but Phichit’s running the water and he probably wants any shred of privacy he can get. 

The faucet stops. Seung-gil doesn’t open his eyes until the mattress creaks under Phichit’s weight. The lights are still on but when Seung-gil glances at Phichit, he’s facing the wall, wearing a shirt and shorts.

Seung-gil strips the sheet but the cover’s a mess, too. He grabs it all, holding it in front of himself even though Phichit’s not looking, and dumps it in his laundry basket to deal with in the morning. He washes and dresses in his pajamas, which somehow found their way to the bathroom. There’s only one futon cover so he grabs a clean sheet and flicks the lights out on his way back to bed. 

The sheet is cool under his arms and legs, which are looser now that the power’s back on. Fan death be damned, Seung-gil’s going to risk it because it feels good and the white noise drowns out the sound of Phichit’s breathing. Is it steady and content or is he still catching his breath? Was that a sigh or a sniff? He doesn’t want to know. 

His mind never races like this, but somewhere in the back of it, he realizes that he fucked up—kissing through an orgasm is probably not something people do, and definitely not during their first time. It’s weird and way more intimate than just making noises (which he couldn’t even manage to do—also weird).

Then again, Phichit had definitely kissed him back.

Seung-gil isn’t sure when exhaustion and sated desire win out over unease, but he wakes up feeling better rested than he’s felt all week. It’s good to have electricity again.

Phichit’s already dressed and done with breakfast. He looks up from his phone and smiles. “Let’s leave in 20, okay?” 

Seung-gil nods and gets ready, and it’s like nothing happened. He’s almost convinced last night was a fever dream but the futon cover is there in his laundry basket and that stain is too big to be from just one person. It’ll have to wait until after practice.

It isn’t weird at the rink until Phichit asks if he wants to get lunch with the other skaters. 

“I have to do laundry,” Seung-gil says. 

Phichit meets his eyes for a second, then shrugs. “Next time.”

Seung-gil goes to the convenience store for cold tea and fried chicken because it’s still the off season. There are other things he could buy but what happened last night isn’t going to happen again so there’s no need to prepare for taking things further. 

The spin of the washer reminds him of the new combination spin he’s been trying. That he nailed it this morning has nothing to do with the reason he’s doing laundry two days early. 

Phichit’s still out when he hangs the cover to dry. Everything’s as he left it when Seung-gil gets back from the gym but the cover’s dry enough to put on the futon. Seung-gil takes a quick shower, cooks a simple dinner, and plays a game to pass the time.

Headphones in and back to the door, he doesn’t hear Phichit come home, but he does hear his greeting. 

Seung-gil looks up as Phichit puts a couple of ticket stubs and pamphlets on the table. There’s a charm, too—someone’s bought him a souvenir. Phichit’s Instagram probably has a dozen new pictures from wherever he went. 

“We ended up at Osaka Castle,” says Phichit (even though Seung-gil didn’t ask). “Sorry! I should have texted you.”

“It’s fine,” Seung-gil says before putting his headphones back in. If he went to Osaka, he’d just want to eat anyway.

Phichit washes his face, then spends the rest of the night watching TV shows on his phone with his headphones in.

The apartment is a pleasant 24 degrees even without the fan when they go to bed, so Seung-gil can’t blame the heat when his thoughts drift to last night. It has to be a one time thing—just the heat playing games with their heads. Google says there’s scientific evidence for people acting out of the norm when the temperatures rise.

In a private window, Google also confirms his other suspicion: kissing while coming is definitely weird.

“You awake?” Phichit’s voice startles him. 

“Yeah.”

“You wanna come up here?”

Seung-gil answers by climbing on top of him. He doesn’t kiss Phichit this time. He doesn’t have to, because Phichit kisses him, mouth open and gasping. 

It happens again the next night, kissing except when they physically can’t, and the night after that. 

Hushed conversation fills the space before Phichit goes back to his own bed. “This is good,” and it’s clear he’s talking about the sex and not whatever else is between them, “and I’m so good with just doing this, but do you ever think about—” 

“Yes.” Seung-gil thinks about it too much. 

Phichit grins—he thinks about that smile too much, too, misses it when it’s not there—and says, “Then we need to go shopping.”

He regrets not taking care of it the other day, but how was he supposed to know where this was going?

_Ask. Talk._ But he should probably have some idea of what else he wants before that.

And talking is hard. This is the most Phichit has said to him outside of practice in days. And Seung-gil never talked to Phichit much to begin with.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Phichit pushes a lock of his hair aside and it’s too tender to just be sex. “I never had to worry about this stuff with my last roommate.” Seung-gil doesn’t like the word _worry_ or the word _roommate_ , but then Phichit runs a hand down the center of his stomach and veers to the crest of his hip and the fear fades. “Divide and conquer. You get condoms and I’ll get lube?”

It’s all Seung-gil can think about at practice. 

They shop separately. They eat separately, too. They haven’t eaten together since the night the power came back on. Coming together at night almost makes up for it. 

Phichit has a little experience and Seung-gil has none, but they’ve spent the summer figuring out new skills together and this is a whole lot easier. 

Training goes on, but they don’t talk in between. They don’t spend much time together at all. The sex gets better and maybe it’s enough. Maybe it’s what Phichit wanted all along, but Seung-gil isn’t sure. Maybe Phichit is just as confused as he is. 

Seung-gil comes home as Phichit’s trimming raw chicken. Whatever is simmering on their one-burner stove smells good. 

He barely has his shoes off when Phichit calls him over. “I need a favor.” He points to where his phone is sitting on the table and asks, “Can you see how much fish sauce this recipe calls for?” 

Seung-gil reaches for the phone to check the recipe just as a text from Yuuri pops up.

_ Just talk to him_. 

Seung-gil yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. “Tablespoon and a half.”

“Cool, that’s what I thought,” Phichit says, unaware.

The text probably wasn’t about Seung-gil. 

It’s green curry, something Phichit hasn’t made yet this summer. The ingredients are probably hard to find. Seung-gil thinks about asking if he can have some, but then there’s a knock at the door and it’s Yuuto, carrying a little box of traditional sweets and a big bag. 

“Hi, Seung-gil! Are you going to eat with us, too?” 

Seung-gil puts his shoes back on. “I was just leaving.”

He goes out to find his own food. It’s terrible.

Yuuto’s gone when he gets back, but it still smells like curry. He and Phichit don’t talk about dinner and they don’t talk about what happens after this summer, but they do make out on Phichit’s bed. It doesn’t go anywhere. It doesn’t need to. 

They only have a few days left together, even less if Seung-gil doesn’t go to Kyoto, and the knowledge stops him from going back to his futon. Phichit still has an arm over his chest and he’s twitching like he’s drifting off. It hasn’t come up since the initial offer, but Seung-gil never forgets. 

“Can I go with you?” He almost hopes Phichit won’t hear him. That he won’t know what he’s talking about. 

“I guess,” Phichit mumbles into his shoulder. “Yuuto dropped off a yukata for you, too.”

Phichit falls asleep first, and it’s his steady breathing that finally lulls Seung-gil. They wake up tangled together in the morning but they don’t talk about that, either. 

Travel cuts their quiet, sloppy practice short. Phichit texts with Yuuri the entire train ride but at least they’re in western clothes (for now).

Kyoto Station is packed and Kyoto is even hotter than Kobe, but Seung-gil doesn’t complain. Phichit’s excitement is contagious, no matter the cause. 

They meet at some famous ramen place in the station for a very late lunch and Seung-gil trails behind Phichit. Once Phichit sees Yuuri, he starts running. They crush each other in a hug and Viktor smiles down at the two of them. 

Seung-gil isn’t just out of place. He might as well not be there at all. There are dozens of ramen places—maybe he can sneak off and eat by himself.

But then Phichit’s beckoning him forward while Yuuri and Viktor’s mouths hang open. 

“Did I forget to mention Seung-gil was coming?”

They both nod. Seung-gil stays silent and still. He should have just stayed home. He could have been practicing and not watching friends catch up.

Viktor grins. “Well, come on! It’s my treat!” 

It’s a bit of a frenzy, all of them going out like this. Viktor and Yuuri take most of the attention, but plenty of people recognize Phichit and Seung-gil, too. At least no one disrupts them outright, and it’s easy to ignore whispers and sneaky photos.

Viktor orders for everyone in excellent Japanese and Seung-gil is impressed until the ramen arrives, topped with a mountain of green onions. It must be a Kyoto thing.

He scowls at the offending vegetables and Phichit laughs. Seung-gil uses his spoon and chopsticks to scoop up as many as he can and dumps them in Phichit’s bowl. Phichit is happy to eat them and he’s going to smell and probably taste like onions all day. Seung-gil would risk it, but it doesn’t matter because they won’t be kissing anyway.

All of Seung-gil’s pork is gone and everyone else is still talking about the honeymoon or a movie or something. He pokes around in the broth, hunting for meat he won't find. 

Seung-gil pays a bit more attention when the other three start talking about skating, but he only looks up when Phichit passes him a piece of his pork. 

When did they get so comfortable sharing food? It was before they started sharing bodily fluids, he realizes. But from the way Viktor and Yuuri gawk at them, Phichit may as well have blown him at the table. 

Phichit keeps talking like he hasn’t noticed, but that’s not possible. If Seung-gil noticed, it must be obvious.

He focuses on a spot on the wall, a scab on his knuckle, a gorgeous, long-coated Akita across the street, the taxi driver’s license, and then they’re at Viktor and Yuuri’s hotel to change.

People keep noticing them. Seung-gil will never again take for granted his ability to blend in outside of figure skating events, even back home. Viktor and Yuuri’s lives must be exhausting.

“Holy crap, this place is expensive!” Phichit exclaims in the lobby.

Viktor shrugs. “I waited too long to book and this was all I could find.”

“You two are just going back to Kobe tonight, right?” Yuuri asks. Phichit nods. “Did you check the time of the last train? They don’t run all night.”

“We know how trains work.” Phichit says it at the same time as Seung-gil thinks it.

Yuuri laughs. “Sorry, I forgot you’ve been here for a while.”

“It’s okay. I expect that newlywed mind fog to clear up in about 10 years.”

“We’ll be newlyweds forever,” says Viktor. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri coos. They’re probably holding hands or kissing or doing something disgustingly sweet while Phichit takes pictures.

Is that the kind of relationship Phichit wants? Maybe that’s why they don’t spend time together anymore. He knows Seung-gil can’t give him what he needs, so he takes what he can get.

Maybe he’s tired of doing all the talking.

“When are you going home?” Viktor asks. 

“Two days,” Phichit replies. Seung-gil stares at the elevator certificate, but he’s listening. 

“Then we have to celebrate!”

Leaving is the last thing Seung-gil wants to celebrate.

The suite is big for Japan (bigger than the apartment in Kobe) but that means it’s still small. Phichit takes off his shoes, puts his backpack down, and starts poking around the minibar.

Viktor smiles. “Help yourself.”

Phichit looks at Yuuri like he needs his other dad’s permission, too.

“It’s fine,” says Yuuri. “Really.”

“Wow, Yuuri! Marriage really suits you!”

_ Doesn’t hurt that his husband is loaded,_ Seung-gil thinks. 

Giddy, Phichit and Viktor break out the Japanese whiskey. Phichit offers some to Yuuri and Seung-gil, but they both shake their heads. 

Seung-gil and Yuuri have some things in common, but if Phichit’s trying to find a replacement Yuuri, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Yuuri can be shy, but Seung-gil’s the one sitting in a corner by himself while everyone else chats about their plans for the rest of the day, or maybe the rest of the summer. He's not really listening. Phichit keeps sneaking glances his way, but at least he has enough mercy not to drag him into the conversation.

Viktor is not so compassionate. “You’re not wearing _that_ , are you, Seung-gil?"

“Vitya...” Yuuri warns him. 

Seung-gil leans back and closes his eyes. “Who cares?” There’s some shuffling as everyone else gets ready.

“He’s going to change,” says Phichit. Seung-gil opens one eye as Phichit leans over to Yuuri. “This is part of his training. Plus, he looks damn good in a yukata.” 

Viktor clasps his hands together. “I want to see!”

Viktor and Yuuri start to undress each other and Phichit pops up next to Seung-gil, holding that same gray yukata from last time. “You can change in the bathroom if you want.”

Seung-gil turns his back to all of them, shrugs, and takes his shirt off. He has no qualms with naked bodies—it’s only the urgent rush of panicked heat that comes from being around Phichit in particular that makes him nervous, and it’s easier now that he’s so used to seeing him naked. 

Or it was easier, until Phichit slides the yukata up his bare arms from behind. Soft hands and stiff cotton leave his skin tingling. Seung-gil takes over, pulling the material over his shoulders while Phichit moves to grip either side of the opening. He crosses his arms, left over right, over Seung-gil’s bare chest. Whiskey smells better than onions, but Phichit must have had a lot if he can smell it even in this position.

“Look, Yuuri…” Viktor whispers. Except it’s the loudest whisper in the world. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri replies, quieter. “Turn around.”

Phichit tightens his hold into a full-on hug and Seung-gil almost regrets turning down alcohol. 

“But they’re being cute.” Viktor lets out a giggle. “I see it now.”

“We can hear you,” Seung-gil mutters.

“Doesn’t bother me.” Phichit’s hands drift lower to undo Seung-gil’s pants and he almost chokes. He swats Phichit’s hands away, makes for the bathroom, and slams the door behind him.

He backs up against the door and exhales. It’s harder to close himself off with Phichit around, but Phichit’s drunk, Viktor and Yuuri are watching, and Seung-gil doesn’t even want to be here. It’s all wrong.

Time passes—Seung-gil isn’t sure how much, but Viktor sure travels with a lot of hair products—and there’s a knock. 

“Seung-gil,” Phichit’s voice is soft, muffled by the door between them. “Are you ready?”

_Oh_. He was supposed to be getting ready. “No.” 

“Do you need help?” He wishes he didn’t. “Yuuri and I want to go ahead, but Viktor can help you.”

Viktor?! Seung-gil clenches his hands. Phichit’s going to leave him with Viktor?

“I’ll take care of you, Lee Seung-gil!” Viktor calls. 

Yuuri’s voice rings out next. “He knows how to tie an obi.”

Then Phichit speaks again, and it sounds like his face is pressed right against the door. Like his words are for Seung-gil alone. “You probably want a little space, huh?”

_ Not from you,  _ Seung-gil thinks. But Phichit’s probably just saying that because he wants time with Yuuri, and Seung-gil can’t deny him that. All he can manage is “Nn.”

“I understand. I’ll see you later.” Louder, Phichit adds. “I texted you the meeting place!”

The door closes and Seung-gil is alone in a hotel room with the greatest figure skater in a generation, maybe ever, and in no mood to appreciate it. 

“Oh, Seung-gil,” Viktor sings, drawing out the syllables.

_ Oh, right.  _ He’s been drinking. 

“Can I come in? I’ll keep my eyes closed, since you’re shy.”

Frowning, Seung-gil takes his pants off, secures the yukata, and opens the door. “Just get it over with.”

“Wow!” Viktor blinks and his face lights up. “That  _ is _ a nice color on you! I thought you were going to look like an old man, but Phichit was right.”

Seung-gil retrieves the obi from the bed and holds it out. “Tie it.”

“You are bossy, aren’t you?” Viktor takes the sash and laughs to himself. “I always had a feeling about Phichit.”

Seung-gil frowns as Viktor ties the obi. “What are you talking about?” 

“You and Phichit. You’re together, no?” 

How on earth is this the conversation he’s having with Viktor Nikiforov? He should be asking about his training routine or his diet or how recovery looks at almost 30 years old, but instead, he says, “We aren’t.”

“Really?” Viktor looks shocked. He’s already done, and he pulls back to admire his handiwork. “He certainly couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Seung-gil finds that hard to believe, but he wasn’t paying attention. “I didn’t notice.”

“No, you aren’t very observant, are you?” 

That’s rich coming from Viktor, who almost walked into two different walls and oncoming traffic because he was staring at Yuuri. Seung-gil was plenty observant.

Viktor’s preening in a mirror now, and Seung-gil gets a good look at his yukata. The fabric is printed with poodle faces. It’s cute. Must be custom. Seung-gil might like wearing yukata better if it involved huskies somehow. Or any dog.

Just a few more days and he could see Holly again. 

“...but that’s the secret, isn’t it?” Viktor’s been talking the whole time. “I  _ definitely _ married up.”

Seung-gil must have missed something, because that last statement makes no sense. Yuuri’s an incredible skater. He’s not bad looking, either, but the idea that Living Legend Viktor Nikiforov thinks he married out of his league is…

It’s food for thought. For another time.

Viktor smiles and pats his shoulder, and for a second, Seung-gil imagines this is some sort of  _ You did good, kid _ skating dream from his childhood. Then, Viktor says, “Let’s go meet Yuuri and Phichit,” and it’s gone. 

Gion Matsuri is a sea of bodies, from building to building. This isn’t even the highest traffic night of the festival, but Seung-gil has no idea how they’re going to meet up. 

“Vitya!” Yuuri’s voice rings out. Viktor glows and zeroes in on his husband immediately.

_Right_. Viktor is a beacon: the tallest, whitest, and easiest-to-find person in the entire city. 

“Yuuri!” He waves like a tree in the breeze, so tall he doesn’t hit anyone. 

The crowd parts and the lovers embrace like magnets. Like it’s been years since they’ve seen each other rather than barely over an hour. Maybe they can smell the infatuation wafting off of each other. 

One look at Phichit washes it all out of his head. He’s smiling but it’s subdued. Sober. 

“Hey, you,” Phichit says. He’s just as handsome in the yukata as the first time. Just as handsome as he always is. Out of Seung-gil’s league. “I was a little worried you two would follow a cute dog and get lost.”

“Didn’t see any dogs,” Seung-gil replies. 

Phichit smiles a little wider, and Seung-gil wonders if he still smells like onions. “I’ll tell you if I see one.” 

Seung-gil wants to say that Phichit should come with him, but Yuuri and Viktor are heading off to find food and Phichit won't want to fall behind.

It’s hot and crowded and even the food isn’t enough to salvage the night. 

Hours later he’s finally free. He’s peeling off the sweat-soaked yukata back in the hotel room when Viktor’s voice shatters his moment of relief. 

“I just called the taxi! Everyone ready?” 

Whatever the taxi's for, he definitely isn’t ready. 

“Come on, Seung-gil!” Phichit says, pulling Seung-gil’s shirt down over his head. “Karaoke! Remember?” He hands over his pants.

Seung-gil frowns. “No.” 

“You said you would!” 

He has a vague memory of agreeing to something, but it was so loud out on the street. If he would have known it was karaoke, he would have refused, but now Phichit’s pouting and Seung-gil can’t resist.

“Fine,” he says, stepping into his pants. Phichit smiles at him but slings his arm around Yuuri as they head out.

Viktor takes Yuuri’s other arm and Seung-gil follows behind, because what else does he have going on?

The karaoke place is packed but Viktor sweet talks the clerk into bumping them up to first in the queue. They end up with a huge room and a lot of free appetizers, too, and their drinks come lightning fast. 

It isn't fast enough. Viktor’s already singing an obnoxious pop song.

“Should I get a parfait?” Phichit snickers as he and Yuuri pore over the menu.

Yuuri hides his face in his hands but he’s laughing. “Please, no.”

They have so many inside jokes. 

“Oh, what was that one song? The one from Alisa’s party where you did the,” Phichit makes some wild hip movement, “the dance!”

“I don’t remember!” Yuuri’s face goes bright red and. Phichit laughs so hard he doubles over. Seung-gil looks at the wall. 

At some point, Seung-gil started thinking of Phichit as a friend, but this—laughing his ass off with Yuuri, remembering old times—this is what friendship means to Phichit. Seung-gil’s probably just an acquaintance to him. 

An acquaintance-with-benefits. If that’s a thing. 

Seung-gil finds the nearest drink and downs it. More alcohol shows up while Phichit and Yuuri are singing, and Seung-gil drinks that, too. 

Viktor and Yuuri sing some Japanese love song. Phichit watches them with starry eyes, and Seung-gil drinks another.  _ Phichit wants that.  _ Parting the crowd and magnetized lips and bold declarations. 

Yuuri and Phichit talk about Guang Hong and Leo and Seung-gil drinks.  _ Phichit actually likes training with them. _

“Are you okay?” Phichit asks him. 

_ Just drunk and feeling sorry for myself.  _ “Fine.”

Yuuri, Phichit, and Viktor all sing a song together and Seung-gil can’t really see straight anymore. He misses Holly and he should have stayed back in Kobe.

“Hey, Seung-gil, I put one on for you!” Phichit calls. Seung-gil is just coherent enough to recognize the original version of his own free skate music. Phichit passes Seung-gil a microphone with a wink.

Oh, right. He’s drunk and Phichit is cute. 

He can’t possibly let Phichit down any more than he already has, so he sings. 

Seung-gil doesn’t need the lyrics on the screen and he would much rather watch Phichit mouth along to the words. His brain chants  _ kiss him, kiss him, kiss him _ in time with the music, but Seung-gil remains in his seat, oceans away from Phichit. 

“Are they singing to each other?” Viktor asks Yuuri. “What is this song?”

Seung-gil is too sober to answer his first question and too drunk to answer the second. 

“I don't know any Korean," Yuuri replies. "I think it’s from a TV show."

“Shh,” Phichit hisses. “I’m listening.”

Seung-gil sings a little louder. If this is goodbye, he wants Phichit to remember him like this: so smashed he’s blown right past affectionate to sentimental. 

Too bad Phichit can’t understand Korean.

When he finishes the song, Phichit looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Maybe he googled a translation. Maybe it was just that terrible. But all he says is, “Holy shit, I’m so drunk.”

Seung-gil doesn’t know what kind of response he hoped for. Not that. 

“When’s your train?” asks Yuuri.

Phichit dabs his eyes with his shirt collar. “Who even knows?”

“Eleven twenty four,” says Seung-gil. Phichit smiles at him and it’s closer, but not quite right.

Viktor waves an arm in the air. “There’s always the first train.”

“You _are_ supposed to be celebrating,” Yuuri adds, drinking some of Viktor’s shochu. “It’ll be a while before we all see each other again.” 

Seung-gil is too far gone to know whose benefit Yuuri’s statement is for, but then Phichit is right in front of him and he doesn’t care. 

“You pick,” Phichit says, leaning down, almost nose to nose. “Last train or first train?”

In less than 48 hours, Seung-gil will be flying back to Korea. 

“First,” he replies, with the certainty only alcohol provides. He hopes he remembers Phichit’s sloppy grin in the morning. 

They stumble through all the Japanese songs that Satsuki makes them warm up to. Yuuri helps for a while, but once he gets to the right level of drunk, he’s unable to resist Viktor’s hands and the room becomes their bedroom.

Seung-gil doesn’t pay any attention. 

Half a dozen songs later, Viktor and Yuuri are half-naked in the corner, sleeping just as comfortably as they might on a king-sized mattress. Phichit snaps a picture and all but flops into Seung-gil’s lap to show it to him.

“I don’t need a picture. They’re right there,” Seung-gil says, pointing. 

Phichit shakes his head. “We spent the entire summer together and you still don’t get me?”

Seung-gil could spend the rest of his life with Phichit and still not understand him. If only he could be so lucky to die trying. Phichit lingers there until Seung-gil leans over him to eat the last of the sausage.

Phichit polishes off the tempura onions (more evidence that he doesn’t want Seung-gil to kiss him anymore) and they both drink water because all the alcohol is gone. 

Settling across from him (next to the husband pile), Phichit sings a few English ballads in a soft voice. His hair is just a little sweat-matted, pulling Seung-gil’s memory down a dangerous path. If only he could capture the moment and keep it forever, he might feel better about going back to Korea. 

Only after Phichit finishes does Seung-gil remember that he has a video camera (his phone) on him at all times. 

Phichit excuses himself to the bathroom and Seung-gil stares at the looping ads on the TV. It’s a good thing Viktor’s paying, because no one’s singing anymore.

When Phichit comes back, his hair is fixed and he doesn’t look so obviously drunk anymore. The effect sobers Seung-gil, too, and neither of them queues any songs. 

Phichit scrolls through something on his phone and Seung-gil tries not to stare at him. 

“Did your wish come true?” Phichit asks, looking up suddenly. Maybe he’s looking at pictures from Tanabata.

“Won’t know until the season starts.” Seung-gil must not be that sober, because he hears himself ask, “What did you really wish for?”

Phichit doesn’t say anything for a long time. He glances at his sleeping friends, then back at Seung-gil. “What are we, Seung-gil?”

It doesn’t answer Seung-gil’s question, but they’ve been dodging Phichit’s question longer.

Is this his way of letting Seung-gil down gently? He can imagine Phichit’s speech already:  _ Seeing my friends today reminds me of what love and friendship should be, and it’s never going to happen with you. _

Phichit might be the best human friend he’s ever had, but friendship is give and take and Phichit does most of the giving. Phichit is definitely the best rinkmate he’s ever had (tension and all), but that’s not mutual, either. 

And sometimes they make out and have sex. Even without much to compare it to, he wouldn’t mind never kissing anyone else for the rest of his life. But Phichit probably has other plans. 

If he mapped the summer on a timeline, maybe they’re friends or lovers at discontiguous points, but Phichit’s asking a multiple choice question with no _All of the Above_. Seung-gil wants to spend time together _and_ skate _and_ make out, but that’s for couples like Viktor and Yuuri, or Phichit and whoever he chooses to be with someday.

And even if they could pick and choose, their entire relationship is based on proximity, and that proximity is about to go away. Can they even be almost-friends when they’re in separate countries? They definitely can’t sleep together. Can they be anything more than competitors when they’re apart?

Yuuri and Phichit manage to stay friends despite distance and not fucking, but they have years of history. Plus, Yuuri and Phichit actually embrace their own feelings.

Seung-gil is close, but he’s not quite there. 

Min-so is right. He doesn’t have the emotional range for heartbreak, and he doesn’t have the emotional range for a relationship. 

All that leaves is skating. That’s all he’s ever had. At least he’ll get something out of this summer.

“You were a good training partner,” Seung-gil says. 

Seung-gil might be numb to it, but he knows it when he sees it on Phichit’s face. 

Heartbreak. 

Then it’s gone, like he only imagined it. Phichit smiles and sings some peppy American songs Seung-gil doesn’t know until Viktor’s voice wakes him from dreamless sleep. 

“It’s time to go.”

Seung-gil doesn’t say much until he’s back in Korea, and even then he only speaks to Holly for the first couple days. They’ve never been happier to see each other.

His parents cry the first time they see his free skate.

“Glad to see this summer wasn’t a total waste,” Min-so says. When he tells her about the exhibition he’s been planning, she gives him a strange look. “Did Phichit help you with this?” 

He shakes his head. 

Min-so’s frown deepens, but she says, “It has potential.”

All he does is train, practice, and take care of Holly until the season starts. 

He and Phichit don’t cross paths in any Challenger Series events, which is just as well. The only skater who tracks him down is Sara Crispino.

“I loved your free skate, Seung-gil! I’ve never seen you like that before! Good luck in the Grand Prix!”

As Sara encounters go, it’s relatively benign. She’s not the only one talking about him. He ignores the idle buzz about his new mentality (it really isn’t) and his new moves (he hasn’t even attempted the Lutz in competition yet). He’s working his way up to peak form but it’s good enough to earn him a bronze. The new exhibition isn’t ready so he sticks with an old one.

A couple of Phichit’s friends are competing at Skate America, too, but he manages to avoid them until Christophe Giacometti seeks him out.

“Looking forward to seeing _your_ Lutz in person, too,” he says. He’s implying something, but Seung-gil doesn’t care enough to ask. 

An interview is the last thing Seung-gil feels like doing but Min-so insists. The reporter asks about the significance of his free skate and he gives a politically correct answer about Korean culture. The question about his emotional development gets his generic  _ I have to keep challenging myself _ answer. It goes fine until Phichit comes up.

“You trained with Phichit Chulanont this summer. How would you say he influenced your skating?”

Seung-gil isn’t ready, and all he can manage is, “He made me go to festivals.”

If only Phichit could be there to laugh at him.

According to Min-so, his short is his stronger program. Overcoming heartbreak with power and speed, rising above the pain to glory. Seung-gil fakes it well enough to sit in fourth place.

“Don’t let your emotions control you,” Min-so says before his free skate. She’s never had to say that before. 

He’s never been very good at following her advice. 

Avoiding his feelings doesn’t make them go away. He takes his starting pose and remembers something Phichit said to him: “You skate best when you’re not thinking about it.” 

No risk, no reward. He conjures up the image he’s pushed aside for months—the flash of heartbreak that makes him doubt everything—and clings to it.

The first few bittersweet bars of melody taunt him, and the triple axel that sends the music down a darker path can’t come fast enough. It’s clean. 

Min-so is wrong. There’s plenty of heartbreak in his skating. Failing to meet his own expectations is heartbreak. Devoting himself to a sport that leaves no time for anything else is heartbreak. 

Numbers float in and out of his mind as he skates his planned elements, but like stars in the night sky or lights in a river, he can’t count them.

For the first time in months, he falls back on bad habits with his quad toe loop. It might cost him, but he’s lost plenty already.

Phichit may never speak to him again, all because he can’t express his emotions. Because he can’t be what Phichit needs. It would be easy to pretend what happened with Yeonga stunted his emotions, but he mourned that loss and made peace with it. This hurdle is different, maybe the first one he can’t overcome, and it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the way he is.

It’s why his he nails his quad Lutz, and his combinations. The points add up in the back of his mind. 

Losing Phichit shouldn’t be heartbreaking. It’s just a logical end. Maybe Seung-gil pushed him away on purpose to fuel this program. He’s that callous. 

He touches on the quad loop. 

Now he’s alone, just like always. Cold and alone.

Seung-gil doesn’t notice the audience on their feet. 

He can’t see Phichit, watching from home, smiling through tears. 

He doesn’t notice that Min-so has nothing to say in the kiss and cry.

What finally gets his attention is his score. It’s a new personal best by a lot, good even by Min-so’s standards. She doesn’t say anything—they both know what he needs to fix—but he can tell by her face. 

It’s enough to put Seung-gil in first place, and for the first time in his senior career, he stays there. It feels incredible, but not perfect, and no amount of practice is going to fix it. 

He can, however, dig the hole deeper. Gold medal adrenaline gets him through interviews and press conferences. All he remembers are hot lights and blinding flashes, and when someone comes by to firm up the gala schedule, he makes a split-second decision to debut his new exhibition. Maybe that’s what he needs to experience true catharsis. 

Seung-gil knows he made a mistake as soon as the music starts, but he gets through it and gets the hell off the ice.

“Bravo.” Chris gives him a slow clap even though they don’t know each other at all. “But you know you can just call him, right?” 

Seung-gil plays vapid. “Who?” 

“Please,” Chris gives him a patronizing look. “You may as well have gone out there and done _Shall We Skate?_ ”

Is it that obvious? _The song is in Thai_ , he thinks, answering his own question. 

Chris crosses his arms and smiles like he knows way too much. “Phichit made it sound like you guys just hooked up, but it looks like someone caught feelings.”

Seung-gil goes rigid. Phichit’s free to feel how he feels and talk about it if he wants, but hearing it out loud _hurts_. Maybe he does have a heart to break after all, and maybe Phichit can be cruel. He steels his expression and walks past Chris. 

A text from Phichit waits on his phone.

_ You stubborn asshole _

If that’s what he needs to feel better, then Seung-gil deserves it. He doesn’t respond.

None of this stops him from watching Skate Canada and compulsively scouring Twitter for all the information he can find. 

**_@phichit+chu_** _on adding 2 quads and training with **@seung-gillee** : “We worked really hard over the summer and accomplished a lot... (1/2)_

_...together in a short period of time. [laughs] And we went to some festivals.” (2/2)_

Seung-gil stares at those tweets for a long time, but it doesn’t help.

Whatever Phichit’s feeling, it doesn’t stop him from winning. Seung-gil doesn’t congratulate him, but he keeps a close eye on the news.

**_@phichit+chu_ ** _ makes late switch from fan fave exh to new, darker program. Different look for him. _

The comments devolve into tabloid fodder and Seung-gil’s own name comes up more than once. It doesn’t mean anything.

He should absolutely be sleeping but he’s never wanted to watch an exhibition gala so badly. 

Phichit’s eyes are heavily shaded and he’s in all black. Once the video quality catches up, the layers come into focus—lace on top with a weird-looking chest harness over that. His somber expression is so far removed from his usual demeanor that maybe even Yuuri wouldn't recognize it. Seung-gil does. 

The sadness vanishes the second Phichit takes his starting pose, replaced by such a dead ringer for Seung-gil’s own blank stare that it catches him off guard.

It’s too elegant to be parody, but Seung-gil knows his own skating better than he knows his heart and it’s all over this choreography. How closely was Phichit watching him this summer? Is this how Phichit sees him? 

He prerotates a quad toe loop in time to the music and it can’t be an accident. 

The choreography isn’t all Seung-gil, but seeing Phichit’s signature moves without his smile is jarring. If this is his influence, then maybe it’s a good thing they don’t associate anymore. 

As soon as Phichit drops his final pose, the smile is back and it goes straight to Seung-gil’s gut. 

It feels like a goodbye or a very elaborate joke. There’s a slim chance it’s a tribute, but they haven’t really spoken since Kyoto (except when Phichit called him an asshole).

That slim chance chips away at Seung-gil’s brain, which is in a race against his heart, and he wonders if this is what cardiac arrest feels like. He can hardly type his message to Phichit.

_ Explain. _

No reply. Holly gets off his cushion in the corner and curls up with Seung-gil, and that’s what finally calms him down. 

Phichit’s response doesn’t come for hours. Seung-gil doesn’t even see it until he wakes up around noon the next day.

_ I asked you first _

It’s supremely unhelpful, but a Twitter conversation between strangers really drives the message home. 

_ Can someone please skate an exhibition that is just fun and/or cool and not a dang coded message? #SkateCanada  _

The first reply ( _shut up i live for this stuff_ ) has more likes and retweets than the original, including a few familiar names.

The same person goes on to say, _and what is "coded" about any of these_ , and a string of animated gifs follows: Viktor and Yuuri’s pair skate, Otabek ripping Yuri Plisetsky’s glove off with his teeth… Seung-gil closes the app before the next gif loads.

Did he really lump himself in with those showboats? Maybe he turned Phichit into a goth, but Phichit turned him shameless. At least they have a bit more subtlety.

Seung-gil reads Phichit’s text six more times and watches his programs three times each. He can’t find any unanswered questions, which leaves Kyoto. 

He answered Phichit’s question (with a lie, but still). Phichit was the one who didn’t answer. 

Phichit’s wish. There was no way it had anything to do with him unless it was “I wish to transform into a sexier version of Seung-gil so I can confuse the hell out of him” (in which case, mission accomplished, Tanabata is real). 

There are just under two weeks until they see each other again. Assuming they see each other at all. Yuuri will be there, too, and even Seung-gil can admit that Yuuri is better company, and a better skater.

After an endless, grueling practice session, Seung-gil comes back to a text from Phichit. Actually, it’s half a dozen texts, which is sort of comforting. It’s more like him.

_Hey_  
_I thought I made it pretty obvious this summer_  
_But maybe I should have spelled it out_  
_I like you_  
_I think you might like me too  
_ _Please talk to me_

Seung-gil stares at the texts for 24 hours before he can even think about responding. 

_ Why? _

He isn’t even sure which text he’s asking about. Phichit responds in seconds. 

_ Oh my god  
_ _ Don’t make this so hard _

Seung-gil is certain this is the end, but Phichit calls him. 

“What?”

“Hello to you, too,” Phichit mutters. “I’m not hanging up until we talk this through.”

Seung-gil sighs. This is why it won’t work. Phichit wants to talk and he can’t. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Fine. I’ll start.” Phichit takes a deep breath and Seung-gil braces himself. “You confuse the crap out of me. I thought we were friends, and I thought maybe you liked me. Then we hooked up and I was sure you liked me, but you got all withdrawn and acted like the whole summer was just about skating, but  _ then _ you go and skate that song and—”

“Stop.” It’s all too much.  _ Friends _ and  _ hooked up _ stab at his mind and Seung-gil can’t keep up. But he can hear Phichit breathing on the other end, waiting. He’s trying, so Seung-gil should try, too. He takes a deep breath. “You stopped talking to me.”

“Huh?”

“You stopped talking to me after we had sex.” And since all they do is misunderstand each other, Seung-gil tries stating the obvious. “I never talked to you to begin with.”

“Yes, you did.” Phichit sounds so sure. “In your own way. I thought we had a good thing going and I wanted to see where it went. Did I imagine all that?”

Seung-gil thought they had a good thing, too, but he lets Phichit talk. He’s better at it.

“I know things got weird. I thought maybe you were overwhelmed so I tried to give you space, but you kept coming back and it felt good. Just sex was better than nothing, so I went along with it.”

Seung-gil frowns, tries to read between the lines.  _ Phichit _ felt used? “I heard you thought it was just a hook up.”

Phichit breathes out a curse, harsh and tired, into the speaker. “Did Chris say something to you at Skate America? Because I was mad at you and he was putting words in my mouth—”

“You said it, too.” Seung-gil interjects. “Just now.”

“That’s not what I—it wasn’t just a hook up! Not for me.”

“It’s fine.” Phichit should be mad at him, for reading too much into the summer and making an accidental promise he couldn’t keep. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Seriously?” Picturing Phichit’s hurt, angry face makes Seung-gil feel even worse. “I’m pouring my heart out here and you keep shutting me down.”

That’s the problem. “I’m not like you.”

Phichit scoffs. “Of course you aren’t. Don’t you think one of me is enough?” 

He has a point, but Seung-gil isn’t like Yuuri or Viktor or Chris or any of Phichit’s friends, either. 

“I’ll never be enough.”

Phichit lets out a low groan. “If you don’t want to be with me, just tell me, but you don’t get to decide what I want.”

Seung-gil grips the phone tighter, hoping Phichit won’t take his silence as rejection.

“My exhibition. I know you saw it. Do you know why I did it?”

It’s probably another rhetorical question, but Seung-gil thinks of Twitter. “To get my attention?”

“Okay, yes, but that wasn’t the only reason,” Phichit admits. “I did it because I wanted to understand you. I don’t want you to change. I like spending time with you, even when you don’t talk. You’re kind and you’re smart and you helped my skating so much. Like, did I even help you this summer? Because it doesn’t feel like it.” 

“You did.” It almost sounds like Phichit is talking about someone else, but if he doesn’t realize how much he helped Seung-gil, maybe they’re both hopeless. 

Voice lower, Phichit adds, “And if I made you feel half as good as you made me feel, then…”

How was that ever in doubt? Seung-gil’s sure he got more than he gave this summer, but somehow Phichit thinks  _ he _ got the better end of the deal. 

It reminds him of something Viktor said about marrying up. Maybe it was good advice (what he actually heard of it, at least).

“I want everything,” Seung-gil says. He’s not sure if Phichit grasps his meaning, but the laugh it earns him lightens his chest.

There’s a thump on the other end of the line, then rustling, like Phichit is burying his phone. Squeaking. Hamsters?

“You okay?” Seung-gil asks when the line goes quiet.

“I’m just so happy! I wish I could be there with you.”

“Me too.” Seung-gil can’t let Phichit do all of the emotional heavy lifting or they won’t last, but it’s enough for today.

There isn’t much time to talk, but they manage it every day. Seung-gil is better at it than he thought he would be.

“I mean, if you think about it,” Phichit says, “we’re pretty much perfect for each other.”

Phichit’s just running his mouth, but Seung-gil has to shoot down those impossible expectations before they cause trouble. “No one’s perfect for each other.” 

“Viktor and Yuuri are.” He actually can’t argue with that, and Phichit goes on. “But the only thing we ever fought about this summer was the air conditioner.”

“It was never about the air conditioner.” 

“I know! I’m just saying, if we had—”

“What about Kyoto?” Seung-gil cut in.

“That was a  _ misunderstanding. _ There’s a difference.” 

Seung-gil sighs. Phichit’s the one who’s been in relationships before, and yet he’s the one explaining it. “We’re going to fight.” 

“Right now?”

“We’re going to have misunderstandings,” Seung-gil continues, ignoring him. “All couples do.”

The line goes silent and Seung-gil pulls his phone away from his ear to check the connection, and it’s a good thing he does, because Phichit gets loud when he’s excited. 

“Seung-gil! Are we a couple?” 

“Misunderstanding,” Seung-gil says. They haven’t labeled their relationship yet, but from the sound of it, Phichit is open to the idea.

“You said all _couples_!” Phichit cries. “What is there to misunderstand?”

Seung-gil amends his previous assessment. “Now it’s a fight.”

“This is not a fight!” Phichit’s getting flustered and they definitely need to do video chat next time. “Seung-gil, are you going to be mad if I start calling you my boyfriend?”

“No.”

He smiles, and even without video, he knows Phichit can tell. 

He arrives in Paris late in the evening.

“Go to bed early,” says Min-so at the hotel. They haven’t talked about Phichit, but he knows she knows something.

“Whatever.”

“I mean it, Seung-gil,” says Min-so. “Don’t do anything rash.”

Heaven forbid he do anything to jeopardize his heartbreak-fueled season. “Too late. I’m happy. Guess I need a new theme.”

Min-so looks taken aback. “Do you really think that’s what I meant?”

Does he think Min-so is heartless enough to keep him torturing himself on the off chance that it’s the key to winning?

Well, he didn’t put it past himself and they’re cut from the same cloth. 

“He’s good for your skating,” she says, as if that’s the only reason to date him. “Don’t let him become a distraction.”

It’s as good as permission (not that he needs it), and Seung-gil hurries off to find Phichit.

Phichit laughs when he relays the story later. “Oh my god, Seung-gil, she was clearly trying to give you a _sex talk._ ”

That makes a surprising amount of sense. 

They stick to kissing and Seung-gil goes back to his own room early, but not because Min-so said to. 

In the end, neither of them pulls off the upset, and Yuuri takes the gold. 

Spending the night together in Phichit’s hotel room is more than enough to soften the blow, especially since Seung-gil doesn’t care enough about the exhibition gala to follow their self-imposed “stick to kissing” rule.

Not that there isn’t kissing. Kissing at vulnerable, breathless moments is kind of their thing now. But he’s trying to take notes from Phichit, too. 

“You were louder than usual,” Phichit muses as he settles against Seung-gil’s chest. The idea that they have a  _ usual _ sends a pleasant rush through him. “That’s not a complaint. I appreciate the feedback.”

“I could tell.” It still feels weird, but Seung-gil can’t argue with the results. And, like their relationship, it’s not just about sex. “I promise I won’t make you read my mind all the time.”

“I don’t know, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Phichit splays his fingers over Seung-gil’s stomach. 

“Oh?”

Phichit nods. “Right now, you’re hungry and you want,” he closes his eyes and inhales through his nose like a TV psychic, “beef bourguignon.”

“What is that?” Seung-gil likes the sound of beef, but it sounds suspiciously vegetal.

“I don’t know. First French meat dish I could think of,” Phichit replies. “But you are hungry, aren’t you?”

They have food delivered because Phichit is right and Seung-gil isn’t that mysterious. Phichit is happy to eat the lettuce and tomato off of his hamburger. 

Stomach sated, there’s something else bothering him, and it’s poking out of Phichit’s suitcase. 

“The costume,” Seung-gil says. He picks up the leather harness, one strap between his thumb and index finger. 

“Hm?” Phichit looks up from his phone. “What about it?"

Seung-gil has questions, but he’s not sure how to phrase them. Is it a metaphor? Something about him being trapped in a cage of repressed emotions? “I don’t dress like this.”

“I know.” Phichit scoots to the edge of the bed and grins. “It just looks cool. And I might have watched a few K-pop videos while I was moping.”

Seung-gil isn't sure if it looks _cool_. What it looks like is a spider with really thick legs, but the questions keep on coming. How does Phichit even get in and out of it? Does he  _ want _ Seung-gil to wear stuff like this? The only one he says aloud is, “Is it hard to skate in?”

“Not really,” says Phichit. His eyes light up as Seung-gil looks at the harness sideways, and that’s one more question answered. Phichit’s at his side in an instant. “Why, do you want to try it on?”

Seung-gil’s answer comes easily. So do they. 

Nothing slips past Twitter. 

_ did **@phichit+chu** forget part of his exhibition costume? i miss the harness D: _

Some people think it’s thematic—the exhibition was more Phichit and less Seung-gil this time—and some people think it’s censorship, but someone a few tweets down gets it right. 

_ Maybe it bit the dust in the line of duty. ;) _

It’s not nearly so kinky as some comments make it sound (really, there just wasn’t time to clean it), but people can say what they want. Seung-gil is more interested in the gif that follows.

When they were skating together in the gala finale, he and Phichit locked eyes in a moment of utter clarity, and Seung-gil thought,  _I could fall in love with him_. 

He also thought they were being subtle at the time. They were not.

He saves the gif and sends it to Phichit.

_ Already saved and faved (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎) _

He isn’t surprised Phichit found it first. He is a little surprised when Phichit doesn’t overload him with texts about how cute they are. Seung-gil wouldn’t hate it if he did, but he appreciates the effort.

What better way to show it than to send a text of his own?

_ Me too. _

Phichit sends a string of hearts in reply and Seung-gil promises to call before he goes to sleep.

He should go get ready for bed, but the gif mesmerizes him. Have his feelings for Phichit been this obvious all along? 

That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He made another promise, after all, and watching himself and Phichit make eyes at each other over and over again gives him hope that he can keep it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Songbirdsara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songbirdsara/pseuds/Songbirdsara), Chel, and Iona for beta-reading this for me! I probably wouldn't have even posted this were it not for you three. ❤️ 
> 
> _[From the Beginning Until Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pisbO7J_AYs)_ from the 2002 Korean drama _Winter Sonata_ was the inspiration for Seung-gil’s free skate and [this remix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rd2EMheYIXY) of _Enjoy the Silence_ by Depeche Mode was the even less subtle inspiration for Phichit’s goth/new wave exhibition. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this little(?) canon adjacent story. No matter how much figure skating research I did, I’m sure I got something wrong, so please let me know if there’s anything really glaring.
> 
> I’m @peppiestbismilk on Twitter if you want to say hello!
> 
> As of November 2019, this monster oneshot has a mini-monster follow up, so please check out [Shattered Restraint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21408160) if you have the urge to get in Phichit’s head.


End file.
